


welcome home. (it's always darkest before the dawn.)

by courage_of_stars



Series: in the darkness, would you call in the name of love? [3]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series), The Try Guys (Web Series), Video Blogging RPF, Watcher Entertainment, Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: (Metaphors featuring violence / blood / body horror / gore / torture), (Past abuse + infidelity + bad BDSM etiquette + dubcon + anything harmful NOT between Shane/Ryan), Aftercare, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Collars, Dom Drop, Drama, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Families of Choice, Fluff, Gaslighting, Healing, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insecurity, Intimacy, Kink Shaming, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Gore, Moving In Together, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Past Infidelity, Past Relationship(s), Past mentioned dubcon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Horror, Racism, Recovery, Romance, Slut Shaming, Subdrop, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:47:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24883300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courage_of_stars/pseuds/courage_of_stars
Summary: "I'm scared that someday, you'll realize I'm not what you want."---(When a storm hits, their relationship strains. Shane battles old demons, and Ryan's past comes to light.)
Relationships: Andrew Ilnyckyj/Steven Lim, Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej, Zach Kornfeld/Eugene Lee Yang
Series: in the darkness, would you call in the name of love? [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1655962
Comments: 20
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: past abuse, past gaslighting, past dubcon, past slut shaming, past kink shaming, past self-harm, past eating disorder, trauma, mental health, nightmares, psychological horror, metaphors featuring violence / body horror / gore / torture, psychological horror, NSFW. (Past abuse + infidelity + bad BDSM etiquette + dubcon + anything harmful NOT between Shane/Ryan)
> 
> \-- Zach, Eugene, Keith and Ned: [i'll take your hand when thunder roars. ](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696462)
> 
> \-- Steven and Andrew: [& all i can breathe is your life. (have heart, my dear.)](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1780078)
> 
> **Please do not share this with Buzzfeed Unsolved, Watcher, Worth It, The Try Guys, or any other RPF individuals. This is not for them to read. Thank you!

"They look like they wanna murder you."

Smirking, Shane keeps his eyes focused on the glass. "Would you let 'em?"

"Hell no." While leaning against his boyfriend from behind, Ryan rests his chin on Shane's shoulder. His lips curve into a grin. "I need to keep my partner-in-ghost hunting alive. Who else is gonna help me get rid of The Fancy Boys?"

Shane barks out a laugh. The rich, warm sound reverberates in his chest. "Don't forget about The Try Guys."

"Oh, for sure, man. And we should use forensic countermeasures-- like fire!" Excitement sparks in Ryan's eyes. "We'll make a date night out of it. Grab some In-n-Out afterwards. Marathon The X-Files."

It's hard for Shane not to be endeared by his boyfriend. Ryan looks soft today with his dark hair less styled, and bangs longer than usual. It's a fluffy mess. Shane can't get over how Ryan insists on wearing his clothes, such as Shane's denim jacket.

"Damn, that kind of date night sounds romantic." Shane indulges a little more by sneaking a kiss on Ryan's temple. "And this is why I adore you."

Ryan leans up to peck Shane's cheek. "Not as much as I adore you."

"Really?" Shane quirks a brow in amusement. "Because you're talking to the man who's giving this arcade a run for their money. And it's all just for you, baby."

They share a fit of laughter interrupted by some wheezing. Ryan's hit with the strong urge to hug Shane. But he's cradling at least a dozen different plushes. There's a Pikachu, Batman, Todoroki, some animals, and other various characters.

From his peripheral, Ryan sees an entertained arcade employee, leaning against another game machine, dangling a key ring from their fingers. They don't mind having to reset the claw crane machine every time Shane wins. But the manager passes by like a scowling shark with increasing frequency. The amount Shane's paying to play is far less than the sum of all the won prizes. And not once has Shane broken his perfect victory streak.

Sometimes, a kid lingers around to watch Shane play. They're in awe of how Shane navigates the crane machine. Shane gives away these newly won prizes. Ryan's heart swells at how delighted these kids are. Small moments like these only make Ryan fall harder for his boyfriend.

"One last game." Shane nudges his head against Ryan's. He tosses a game token in the air, and catches it with ease. "Which prize do you want?"

Ryan looks at the toys in his arms, then at the machine in front of them. "We don't have a Rilakkuma yet."

"Rilawhat?"

"Rilakkuma, dude!" Ryan jabs his finger at the glass, pointing at the teddy bear. The brown animal is jammed in the back right corner. "It's the bear Steven has all over his apartment. There's a few over at Andrew's place too."

"Thought you were scared of bears." Grinning, Shane slides the remaining tokens into the machine. 

Ryan lets out a huff, and squeezes the prizes in his arms. "Not the ones you get me."

"Alrighty, then!" After rolling up his sleeves, Shane hits the green start button. The arcade machine whirs to life, flashing with rainbow colors, and playing 8-bit tunes. "Let's get that bear outta there!"

While Ryan cheers Shane on, the arcade manager sweeps by with another glowering look. The plush is trapped in a tricky spot. But with uncanny talent and finesse, Shane maneuvers the controls. The claw descends, then catches the bear by its head.

"Hell yeah!" Ryan exclaims loudly. He lets out a soft wheeze when Shane passes over the brown teddy bear. Ryan looks up with a bright smile. "You're fucking amazing!" 

Laughing, Shane runs a hand through his hair. "Of all things-- _this_ is what impresses you?"

"You don't gotta be so modest about this, man." Ryan does his best to elbow Shane without dropping any of the prizes. "Not just anyone has a winning streak at this game."

"It helps when I have the best moral support." Shane lightly pecks Ryan's cheek. He tucks a few plushes under his arm to help Ryan carry them. "Wanna get some food?"

"Yeah!" Grinning, Ryan leans closer to his boyfriend.

Shane wraps his free arm around Ryan's shoulders. They smile at the arcade manager on their way out.

* * *

**( sms: ryan )** [ 1 img sent: selfie of Ryan and Shane beaming. Their faces are slightly obscured by the countless prizes. ]

 **( sms: zach )** jxnskxjdjsksj SO CUTE!!!!! 

**( sms: steven )** wow ! WOW !! W O W !!! rilakkuma!!!!!! quq <3

 **( sms: eugene )** Surprised that arcade hasn't banned y'all yet

 **( sms: eugene )** Or just Shane

 **( sms: shane )** You still mad????? lmao 

**( sms: andrew )** Eugene, we told you they wouldn't be too chill with you winning EVERY game ALL the time

 **( sms: eugene )** MY BAE WANTED THAT MASSIVE CAT PLUSH. I NEEDED THOSE TICKETS. NOTHING WAS GOING TO STOP ME.

 **( sms: zach )** And I love that cat plush very much uwu <3

 **( sms: eugene )** <3 <3 <3

 **( sms: ned )** Damn, Ryan. You're breaking the Internet with what you're posting on IG. Freaking c u t e <3

 **( sms: keith )** PLS DON'T STOP. THIS IS THE HIGHLIGHT OF MY DAY <3

 **( sms: ned )** You guys decide who's gonna be President of Club Shyan yet?

 **( sms: ryan )** Myself obviously :) 

"You're gonna be the president of our own ship?" Shane trades his phone for the apartment key.

"Hell yeah, dude!" Smiling proudly, Ryan rocks on his heels. "You can be vice president."

Shane laughs and shakes his head. As soon as they're inside Shane's place, Ryan adds the prizes to their growing collection. There's a bulk of plushes at Ryan's apartment too. Ryan has all the prizes set in place except for one. While debating on where to put the teddy bear, Shane calls for him.

"Hey, love."

Ryan looks over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

Shane draws something out of his pocket, and tosses it over. "Catch."

On instinct, Ryan catches the object. It's a colorful plastic ball from an arcade vending machine. "Another prize, huh?" Chuckling, Ryan pops open the cerulean plastic. "When did you get this..." Ryan's voice trails off as the item falls into his palm. 

It's a key.

The sight of it punches through Ryan's chest until he forgets how to breathe. His fingers trace over the cool, metal key. The brass material warms in his palm. Eyes widening, Ryan looks up at Shane.

"Is this...?"

"A key to the apartment," Shane says with a soft smile. "You're already here most of the time. So, I thought maybe you'd like a key?" Drawing in a deep breath, Shane approaches his partner. "This place is your home too, Ryan. I'd love for you to move in." Even with hope in his eyes, there's some nervousness as well. "But only if you want tha-"

Ryan tackles Shane with a hug. The teddy bear squishes between their colliding bodies. Shane staggers back until he's sitting on the sofa. Without hesitation, Ryan climbs into his boyfriend's lap. Shane laughs into Ryan's ear, and returns the embrace.

" _Yes, yes, fuck yes!_ Of course, I fucking want that." Joy overflows so strongly that Ryan can hardly breathe. "Oh, my fucking god-- _Shane!_ "

Words spill into incoherence as Ryan takes Shane's face into his hands. Their lips press together. Shane melts into the kiss. His arms circle around Ryan to hold him closer. With each passing moment, the kiss deepens. Chests ache from wildly beating hearts. Lips part only when their lungs ache for air. Once their eyes meet, they share a laugh. Ryan's quick to dissolve into the softest wheeze. That sound of pure happiness keeps Shane's smile from fading.

Ryan brushes stray strands out of boyfriend's eyes. "Thank you, Shane."

"Dude-- I'm the one that's grateful." Shane lets out a breath of relief. His fingers run over skin exposed by Ryan's torn black jeans. "So happy you said yes."

"Damn right, I'd say yes." Ryan draws back, so he can hold up the bear plush. "Will there be enough room for these guys? I mean, the ones migrating over from my apartment. You know better than anyone how many there are."

Shane chuckles while playing with Ryan's hair. "Don't worry. All of 'em will come home too."

_'Home.'_

The word sparks light. Ryan places the teddy bear aside, and gets off the sofa. He stands between Shane's legs, reaching out to take his partner's face in his hands. Shane's gaze softens. For a silent moment, they speak with the warmth in their eyes. Shane presses a kiss to Ryan's palm. The tenderness never ceases to fill Ryan's lungs with love. Ryan leans down, tilting Shane's face towards him for another kiss. It's slow and deep, full of meaning and promise and hope.

From sharp hips to a strong back, Shane's hands drift up Ryan's body. Adoration bleeds through the fabric. Ryan rests a hand on the side of Shane's neck. His other hand reaches down to hook fingers into belt loops. Shane's breath hitches as Ryan pulls him onto his feet.

Driven by a hurricane of love and desire, Ryan pins Shane up against the hallway wall. Brown strands twine around Ryan's fingers as they kiss heatedly. Shane falls easily into the kiss like it's second nature. An arm around Ryan's waist pulls him in until their bodies press flush. As their legs slot, torn black denim creates friction against faded blue jeans. Shane's free hand lifts his partner's thigh, so Ryan can grind all he wants. Moans spill into hungry mouths. Ryan bites back a keening sound as Shane's hands map out his body. Yesterday's love bites and bruises flare under clothes.

"Shane, I love you," Ryan gasps as the kiss breaks. He mouths hotly at Shane's neck until feeling that precious pulse. "Love you so fucking much."

A moan catches between Shane's teeth as Ryan marks him. "Love you too, Ry. Goddamn, _fuck-_ " His hips buck when Ryan sucks viciously on a highly sensitive area. "Just like that, babe. Doing so well." Shane rewards his boyfriend by grinding harder against him. He chuckles lowly at Ryan's stifled moan. "Been looking forward to taking care of my pet tonight. You've been so good."

Ryan shudders almost violently. "Love being good for you." A content purr rises from the back of his throat.

"Darling, you're always good for me." Shane takes his time marking under Ryan's jaw. "So lovely."

Shane craves to give praise, and Ryan's so damned weak for it. Same goes for when they change roles. To this day, Ryan and Shane marvel at their high compatibility. It's not only how they're both switches and vers. Or how their preferences and kinks align so well. But it's how they share a foundation of mutual respect, values, empathy and love. The core of d/s for them is growing together, taking care of each other, and learning to be kinder to themselves.

Shane takes hold of Ryan under his thighs, and lifts him up. With heart rate quickening, Ryan wraps his legs around his partner. Ryan kisses Shane fiercely, starving for every moan and gasp and swear caught in-between. As Shane carries Ryan to the bedroom, Ryan bites on the man's shoulder. Shane accidentally knocks Ryan into the wall.

"Fuck--" Shane swears under his breath, then gives Ryan an apologetic look. "Sorry, I-"

"It's okay," Ryan reassures with a bright laugh. "No worries, yeah?" He laps at the faint indentions left by his teeth. With the wall supporting his back, Ryan uses this chance to grind against Shane. Blissful haziness starts to blanket over his mind. _"Sir--"_

"Love it when you get excited. So cute." Shane kisses the corner of Ryan's lips. "Feel what you're doing to me?" Shane presses his hard arousal closer.

"Yes, sir." Ryan's groan pitches higher at the end. "Please let me help you with that." His words crack and skip pitches all over the place. _"Shane, please-"_

"I've got you, kitten." What begins as a gentle kiss on Ryan's throat ends with grazing teeth. "I'm going to take such good care of you tonight."

Shane carries Ryan to bed. He sits down on the edge with Ryan straddling him. There's no hesitation as Ryan grinds in his partner's lap. Since their first time together, Ryan's given Shane countless lap dances. Shane never ceases to be amazed. It's not only how Ryan moves in Shane's lap, hips swiveling and rocking. But how Ryan murmurs a litany of sweet words, including _"I love you"_ s and Shane's name on loop. Only Ryan can make a lap dance so damned emotional. And Shane would never have it any other way.

Before going any further, they run through a consent and safety check. Once they're both in the clear, Shane kisses Ryan deeply. Insatiable hunger drives the kiss. Lips stray while eager hands strip clothes from upper bodies. The visible parts of their skin are covered in concealer almost daily. But the rest of their torsos bear scatterings of love bites. There's even some fingerprint bruises on hips, and red lines running down backs. 

"You're so beautiful." Shane kisses rouge blemishes made by him. Some are darker, some are lighter. His lips connect the marks like constellations. "And all mine."

Ryan shivers as he melts from the praise and possessiveness. It's always just right. Shane's dominance never makes Ryan feel trapped. Only safe and loved. "Thank you, sir. I love being yours-" The words break off into a hiss. 

Shane can't resist marking his partner some more when Ryan submits so wonderfully. He sucks harshly on Ryan's neck. The pulse in the jugular vein skips. In surrender, Ryan bares more of his throat. Shane breathes heavily against warm skin. He still gets overwhelmed by Ryan's unconditional trust.

"I love you, I fucking love you- _I love you--_ " Each time Shane utters those words, his voice roughens with a low growl. He draws a hot line up Ryan's throat with his mouth until whispering into his ear, "You're so fucking perfect." Shane kisses Ryan in time to devour his sob.

The friction between their jeans is maddening. As Shane laps at a mark, Ryan's hips move faster. He suppresses a whimper, but it escapes into the open when Shane lightly bites his shoulder. It's a reminder that Shane wants to hear him. To hold nothing back. To not be afraid. Soon, Ryan's moaning and mewling as he desperately moves his hips. 

"Good boy." Shane nips at Ryan's ear. "Making pretty sounds for me." Ryan's debauched noises are addictive. Each sound dials Shane's arousal higher. Most importantly, it's a way for Shane to gauge that Ryan's feeling good.

While basking in the praise, Ryan nuzzles Shane. "Thank you, sir." Like how he's free with his sounds, Ryan's free with his motions as well. Ryan begs with his body for more. Every time there's more searing friction, another tsunami wave of pleasure crashes in.

Shane kisses Ryan deeply, luring more moans out of that lovely mouth. When Shane leans back, Ryan whimpers in protest. Shane gives his boyfriend a reassuring peck on the cheek. 

"Don't worry, love. We're only getting started." He smiles at how Ryan's hips stutter in anticipation. "Can you be good for me, and kneel right there?" Shane gestures at the floor. 

"Yes, sir." Ryan obeys by getting on his knees. He preens as Shane pets his head. Curious, Ryan watches Shane pull out a black box from the bedside table drawer. 

Shane sits on the edge of the bed, facing Ryan. "I had this whole speech planned, but it's gone out the window." There's a flustered note to Shane's laugh. He runs his fingers through Ryan's dark hair. "I don't think I can truly express how grateful I am to have you as my partner. How happy you make me. And how much our d/s dynamic means."

It only takes a few words in for Ryan to tear up. "I feel the same." With his throat tightening from emotions, Ryan isn't articulate as usual. But he still expresses love and gratitude by leaning into Shane's touch. "Thank you for everything."

"Of course, sweetheart. And I hope you know how much I appreciate you." Shane watches Ryan with a soft gaze. "You accept all of me. Especially as a switch. You helped rebuild that in me."

"You're my perfect dom and sub." There's nothing but adoration in Ryan's eyes. He leans up to kiss Shane. "All-around freaking amazing."

Shane smiles warmly. "Thanks, love. And same to you." He kisses Ryan's forehead. "I'll never take for granted the trust you've given me. I want to keep taking care of you. Helping you to reach your goals, and grow in the way you want. Keeping you safe and loved." Shane begins lifting the box lid. "I would be honored if you let me."

The opened box reveals a collar. Black leather. Simple yet elegant. Hanging from the center is a silver ghost charm.

"May I collar you, and take care of you?"

Silence sinks into the room. It lasts for a moment too long. Then even longer. And it keeps stretching until Ryan's breath hitches. His hands close tightly on his knees.

"Shane-" Ryan's voice strangles towards the end. So far, they've developed through play collars, and collars of consideration. This offer is clearly a training collar. An ache resonates in Ryan's chest while leaning in closer. He sees the initial _'S'_ engraved on the silver ghost charm. Despite the overwhelming rush of joy, there are still flickers of fearful apprehension. The latter grows stronger as Ryan's expression turns haunted. "I--"

Shane's eyes shutter. He's already highly perceptive by default. But he's most in-tune with Ryan. Guilt seizes Shane's chest. Maybe Shane read everything wrong. Maybe he's moving too fast. Maybe Ryan doesn't want something like this at all.

"I'm sorry, I-" Shane begins to close the box. His mind races a mile a second. But that's slower in comparison to his heart hammering in overdrive. "I-- I thought maybe a surprise would be nice, but-" They talk regularly in-depth about their d/s relation and experiences. Both of them agreed they feel ready and excited about progressing forward. But maybe there's something Shane missed. "I'm sorry, Ry. Honestly, I should've asked first before even getting this. I just-"

"Shane." Ryan rests his hand over his partner's. "It's okay, babe." His gaze darts elsewhere in hesitation, then dwells on the closed box. As his gaze clouds over, Ryan's expression strickens with something unfathomable. He looks back at Shane. "Can I have some time to think about this?"

"Yeah, dude. Of course." Shane smiles in reassurance. He shoves aside his own guilt. It'll beat Shane up later when he's alone. Right now, Shane needs to take care of his partner. "There's no rush, Ry. Also it's completely okay if you choose not to take the collar. There's nothing wrong with that. You can ask me questions, and talk to me about anything whenever." Shane sets the box aside, and pulls Ryan into his arms. "I love you."

Ryan curls up against Shane, burying his face into the man's chest. "Love you, too." He guides Shane's hands onto his chest. "You can have me however you want."

By now, Shane reads Ryan well enough to know when his boyfriend's riddled with anxiety, guilt, trepidation, a whole plethora of negative emotions. And this isn't like Ryan's usual submission. This feels more like an one-sided business transaction. More like when Shane gave up his body to appease his ex-boyfriend--

Oh.

Oh, no.

Recollections of Ryan's self-consciousness and insecurity resurface in Shane's mind. Slowly, a puzzle forms, but there's no box to base the final image on. However Shane already gets a sense of what this is about:

Someone hurt Ryan.

And in a way that was deep enough to scar.

Shane's hands drift up towards Ryan's face. He waits until their eyes meet. After a deep breath, Shane declares:

"Tonight, I want us to cuddle."

Ryan stares. First in confusion. Then with tears. Shane leans in to kiss him. After a second, Ryan returns the kiss with a smile. Suffocating tension begins to evaporate. Suddenly, Shane lifts Ryan in his arms.

 _"Shane!"_ Ryan's laughter fills their home. "Don't you get tired of manhandling me?"

"Hell no. It's one of my favorite hobbies." Shane grabs new shirts on the way out. With ease, Shane carries Ryan into the living room. The sofa futon sets into a bed. He lets Ryan down, and steals a light kiss. Shane helps Ryan into the soft blue NASA sweater, then throws on his own shirt. "Gotta say it's been fun randomly picking you up during work. Nothing like carrying my boyfriend through an old, dusty, totally-not-haunted hotel."

"Oh, my god. You jackass." Ryan half-heartedly shoves Shane's arm. Then with a laugh, Ryan catches his sleeve. Just to keep holding onto him. Ryan quietens as he strokes the fabric. "So...you're not mad?" His words accelerate into a nervous mess. "You did so much for this surprise. I swear, I'm not trying to come off as ungrateful. I don't take your offer lightly at all, and I appreciate how much thought you put into the collar, and I appreciate _you,_ but I-- I- I just..."

"Ry. Darling." Shane kisses him gently. Shane needs to calm Ryan down, so his partner doesn't careen off into sub drop. "I'm not upset at all." Shane plays with Ryan's dark hair to ease his anxiety. "I'm proud of you for telling me what you need. All of this-" He gestures at the space between them. "-works well, because we communicate. Take your time, okay? There's no rush." He kisses Ryan's cheek. "I love you."

"Love you, too." Apprehension seeps out of Ryan. He relaxes with each wave of Shane's hand in his hair. "You still want me to move in?"

"Totally, dude." Shane grins broadly. "Fucking thrilled that you said yes."

"I was thinking about it too for a while. You beat me to it." Ryan nuzzles Shane some more. "Any chance this is why your anxiety's been higher past few weeks?"

"Yeah," Shane admits with a quiet laugh. "I wasn't sure if I was moving too fast. But also if you said no, I'd respect that. I never want you to feel obliged or forced to do anything."

Ryan tugs on the front of Shane's shirt, and pulls him in for a light kiss. "Just one of the many reasons I love you."

"Don't give me too much credit. Being able to say no should be a given for any relationship." Shane's lips brush the side of Ryan's face. His fingers continue to sift through dark locks. "What do you wanna watch?"

"Mmm--" Ryan hums while nuzzling Shane. "Surprise me?"

Shane's soft smile turns into a smirk. Mischief sparks in his eyes. "Oh, boy."

"No Paranormal Activity, Insidious, The Blair Witch Project, anything to do with supernatural investigations. Or found footage." Ryan's brows knit together into a scowl. But he just looks like a ruffled up cat. "Every time we watch those movies, you just make fun of me. And you laugh at _every_ scare!"

Shane gives a half-shrug. "By now, I just think it's endearing how you still believe ghosts and demons exist. Even after a million Unsolved episodes."

"That's not what you're gonna think if some spirits follow me when I move in."

"So, we can get a few spirits to possess these arcade prizes?"

Shane laughs as Ryan throws plushes at him. They're easily blocked. Shane catches a Pikachu doll, and tosses it right back. The yellow Pokemon bounces off Ryan's head. Shane almost falls off the sofa in hysterics. While Ryan's ranting passionately about demonic possession of inanimate objects, Shane pulls his boyfriend in for a hug. Ryan wheezes into Shane's chest. The couple doesn't pay much attention to the movie flickering onscreen. They get lost in each other-- exchanging bantering remarks and playful kisses.

"Shane?"

"Mm?"

"I love you."

"Love you, too."

* * *

Days pass by. Blurring into one another.

Ryan doesn't bring up the collar. 

Neither does Shane.

On the surface, Shane and Ryan appear like their usual selves: the most chaotic power couple in the office. Maybe in all of the city. They still kick ass with Unsolved and other projects.

But to their close friends, something isn't quite right.

As the one that spearheaded The Try Guys' collaboration of a 3x3 image set of Ryan wearing Shane's clothes (it was for analytical purposes, prior to Ryan and Shane going public about their relationship)-- Zach knows that lately Ryan's been wearing only his own clothes. No NASA sweater. No Star Wars dad hat. No denim jacket. No red and black flannel. Zach cross-references this data with his boyfriend. Eugene confirms Zach's observations.

Andrew used to suffer on a daily basis, since his work desk's in the same area as the Unsolved duo. Ryan and Shane never went a day without roasting Andrew. It's up there on the couple's list of favorite past times. But not only has there been no recent roasts. There's no sharing elaborate, disturbingly creative methods of murdering Worth It (in Sims.) When stopping by to give Andrew coffee, Steven throws out a roast. Steven remarks on how Unsolved doesn't hunt ghosts, but just makes Powerpoint slides. Ryan and Shane make no rebuttal. They just hum and nod, saying maybe they should switch over to Keynote.

During team meetings, Ned sometimes sits next to either Shane or Ryan. Keith's on Ned's other side, so he's another entertained spectator. Shane and Ryan take diligent notes. But they also play Hangman, Tic-Tac-Toe, Pictionary, or doodle freely on a notepad. Sometimes, Shane stabs at the page to create seemingly random dots. Once Ryan connects them in numbered order, a constellation appears. But now, Shane and Ryan keep to their own notepads. Their pens never stray.

What's most obvious is how Shane and Ryan rarely touch anymore. This is the couple that gave no fucks about cuddling when staying overnight at haunted locations, or playing with each other's hair during Unsolved Q+As, or making out in the printer/copier room.

The distance between them feels wide as an ocean. And it hurts to watch.

* * *

**( sms: ryan )** I'll be coming home late. Sorry! Don't wait up on me

 **( sms: shane )** It's alright <3 I don't mind waiting.

 **( sms: ryan )** Really, it's ok! I might actually end up spending the night here

 **( sms: shane )** Oh, gotcha.

 **( sms: shane )** Don't overwork yourself, yeah?

 **( sms: shane )** Have a good night <3 Love you.

 **( sms: ryan )** Thanks <3 

**( sms: ryan )** Love you too

While reading the last text, Shane lets out a breath of relief.

But then Shane quickly catches himself. So, what if Ryan _doesn't_ say 'I love you' back? Just because Ryan hasn't been expressing as much affection these days doesn't mean anything. Right? Or is Shane that insecure in himself? In their relationship?

As the screen dims, his gaze drifts over to the table. Lately, Shane's been making Ryan's favorites for dinner. While sliding the phone away, Shane sets everything in plastic containers. He adds them to the growing number of boxes in the fridge.

* * *

For the past few days, Shane only sees Ryan at work. Has Shane irreparably fucked up? Maybe Ryan doesn't want to move in anymore. Maybe Ryan doesn't even want to be _in a relationship_ anymore. Shane desperately tells himself these insecurities are digging too deep under his skin. Or perhaps it's trauma. Or all of the above? Amidst of a whirlwind of questions, Shane hears echoes of his ex-boyfriend's voice.

_"You're hard to love."_

Anxiety grips at Shane's vital organs, especially his heart. If those were the only words to haunt him, then maybe Shane could storm through this. But there's more Shane's ex engraved into his mind.

_"You're not that interesting."_

Has Ryan...gotten bored of Shane? Maybe Shane rambles too much about science and space and the stars. Just saying, _"Carl Sagan"_ around his ex was enough to set the man off. So, Shane learned not to talk about what he loves. His passions were kept under lock and key.

Or maybe Ryan's just scared. He has a tendency to fall into tunnel vision, and lose sight of everything else when he's afraid. It's happened more than once during Unsolved.

Such as when Shane tried sharing trivia about Air Force One at the Ohio State Penitentiary, in an attempt to lighten the mood, and help Ryan feel more comfortable. At the time, it was jarring to be shut down like that by Ryan. But Shane caught on quickly that Ryan goes into auto-pilot when his anxiety runs high. It's why Shane does a lot of wild shit (AKA challenging spirits to rip his heart out, and hang his bones like Christmas lights), so that Ryan's distracted from fear.

But what's Ryan afraid of right now?

With dread always lurking overhead, Shane goes through the motions of editing, researching, answering e-mails, and more. He drinks cups of black coffee like alcohol. High quantities of caffeine worsen Shane's anxiety. But he gives into the impulse. Work is the only distraction from this emotional minefield. Shane sends a few documents to the printer. He downs the remaining coffee before leaving his desk.

When Shane enters the printer/copier room, he stops. At the sight of Ryan, Shane's heart kicks any rationale out the window. Shane hugs Ryan from behind as he's done a million times. Ryan always wheezes out a fit of laughter, maybe throws in some playful bantering, leans back against Shane, turns his head for a kiss. 

But today, Ryan stays still. 

He doesn't outright push Shane away, or discreetly break out of the embrace. Instead Ryan keeps his eyes on the printouts. Rigid tension sets Ryan's frame into faux rigor mortis. His breathing is overly measured.

The silence alone hurts. 

Shane steps back to give Ryan some space. His arms fall to his sides. A million arrows laced with guilt pierce through. "Ry...?"

With forced nonchalance, Ryan replies, "Yeah?" He gathers new printouts hastily. Ryan holds onto a page end before the print's even done. Sometimes he tugs to encourage the machine to magically speed up.

Shane's eyes trace the familiar curve of strong shoulders. He fights the urge to close the space between them, hold onto Ryan tightly, and bury his face into the man's neck. Anxiety that's been rippling underneath flares viciously. Shane's ribcage feels too small to hold all of his organs. Blistering questions swarm inside: _'What did I do wrong? How can I fix this? Why are we falling apart? How can I make you happy again? How can I love you better? Do you still want me? Do you still love me?'_

"Can I help you with anything, Ry?"

A slight tremor dances across Ryan's arm. He pauses while trying to yank out another page. Shane knows by the unsteady rise and fall of Ryan's shoulders that he's anxious too. They're caught in a cruel feedback loop of anxiety fueling anxiety.

Shane curls his fingers at the edges of his sleeves, so nails don't dig into palms and break skin. Another earthquake of guilt shakes Shane to the core. He tries to calculate, then recalculate his words ahead of time. There's trepidation over possibly triggering Ryan into a panic attack. Shane's throat goes dry with fear and uncertainty.

As soon as the final page is done, Ryan pulls it out of the machine's jaws, and adds it to the stack. When Ryan turns around, he doesn't look directly at Shane. But Shane sees the dark circles dwelling under the man's eyes. It's apparent Ryan hasn't been getting sleep either.

Shane breathes in with a mouthful of nails. The inhale is abrasive and rough at the edges. Yet Shane keeps his voice gentle. "Love, what's wrong? You can always tell me anything."

"I just-" Ryan clenches his jaw. He holds onto the pages tightly. Pristine paper crinkles under the vice grip. "I'm sorry, Shane. I need more time."

They're only mere feet apart. But that space feels vast as a canyon. The shifting tectonic plates of their relationship pulls them further apart. All Shane wants is to hold and comfort Ryan. But Shane doesn't know if it's okay anymore. Apparently, his hands are on fire, and they'll burn the man he loves most.

Something hollow and heavy fills Shane's lungs, swelling beyond their limits. The fucking useless organs implode to fill his veins with an army of newly born arachnids. Shane's full of anxiety reaching new heights. And yet his chest is excavated at the same time, leaving him empty and carved out.

But Shane does what he always does best for Ryan:

He smiles.

"Okay." Shane holds the smile, keeping it warm and reassuring. Whether they're in dark, abandoned locations for Unsolved shoots, or in a moderately lit printer/copier room at the office-- Shane will keep smiling for Ryan. "That's totally fine, dude. Just remember to take care of yoursel-"

Before Shane can say another word, Ryan exits the room. It feels like Ryan walks away with more than just a stack of paper. Shane's left stunned with a void in his chest. While falling back on automated motions, Shane faces the printer.

But there's still some noise behind him. Hope flickers inside Shane. He turns back around to see--

"Eugene? Andrew?" A beat too long passes before Shane laughs. Humor as a self-defense mechanism kicks in. Hopefully, the laughter conceals any cracking in Shane's voice. Even if his laugh sounds brittle. "Impromptu meeting for the Trifecta of Depression, Nihilism & Co.?"

It's the self-proclaimed name for their trio. Andrew wears a conflicted expression while internally debating on how to respond. The worried creases lessen when Eugene rests a hand on Andrew's shoulder. 

"Actually, yeah." Eugene's glimpses of softness on-camera is far more present when he's not in the public eye. "Is now okay?"

"Uhm..." Shane stalls by gathering up the prints. There's at least a dozen answers that might get him out of this situation. But these are his best friends. Shane breathes through the discomfort, then looks over at Andrew and Eugene. "Yeah, that's cool. Maybe somewhere private?"

"Of course." Eugene nods towards the door. "I know just the place."

On their way out, Andrew gives Shane an one-armed hug. Shane smiles as he returns the embrace. Gently, Eugene nudges Shane with his elbow. At their own individual pace, they're learning to be more comfortable with physical contact. Some of the unbearable tension in Shane's chest alleviates.

Eugene leads them to a small, rarely used conference room. The few working light fixtures glow dimly. Random boxes are stacked up against a wall. Mismatched chairs circle around a scratched up table. Shane sits down with Andrew on his right, and Eugene across from him.

While looking over the room, Shane realizes Zach used to work here during a past fall out with Eugene. Shane and Ryan kept Zach company, so he wouldn't be alone. It's a tremendous relief that Zach and Eugene reconciled. And it's all the more reason Shane's thrilled about the couple getting together. They deserve to be happy.

Shane's chest tightens. Will he be able to reconcile with Ryan? Or is this the beginning of an inevitable end?

"Shane." Andrew lightly interrupts Shane's train of thought. "We've been giving Ryan and you space to respect your privacy. But we wanted to reach out. It looks like it's taking a heavy toll on you both."

"What we talk about in this room--" Eugene taps his knuckles on the table, "--stays in the room. You're welcome to share anything with us."

Even after all of these years, Shane's bewildered by how he has friends like Eugene and Andrew. They know when to give him breathing room. But they also know when to offer a genuine listening ear. "Thanks, guys." Shane shifts in his seat. His mind calculates a couple of reasonable ways to start. But his heart spits out:

"Noah might've been right."

Eugene and Andrew freeze. A wave of fury bulldozes over them. They exchange pensive looks with each other.

Before anyone spits poison about Shane's ex, Andrew asks, "About what?"

"That I'm hard to love."

Those words echoed deafeningly in Shane's mind for years. But when Shane tries to talk about his ex-boyfriend, his vocal chords conveniently decide to malfunction. Shane still tries to grin through it. As if a smile will make any of this hurt less.

"Shane, that's not true," Eugene states in a firm, level tone. It's a miracle that Eugene isn't breaking out into a tirade. He'll always be outraged about what happened to Shane. But Eugene knows that Shane doesn't need to witness that anger right now. "It's never been a challenge, burden or inconvenience to love you. _Noah's_ the one who never truly loved you." With a grimace, Eugene's jaw tightens. "He was trying to _own_ you-- through toxic, gaslighting, manipulative, abusive behavior."

"Gene's right. You're not hard to love at all, Shane." Andrew keeps his gaze on his best friend. "And we know he wasn't the only one to make you feel that way." Pain clouds over Andrew's eyes. He leans in closer. "We're so sorry you had to go through that. None of it was ever your fault."

Subconsciously, Shane tugs his sleeves down, so there's a barrier of fabric between blunt nails and scarred palms. Trying to come to terms with an abusive ex-partner is already exhausting. In therapy, Shane's learning the hard way that recovery is a lifelong journey.

But another mountain-high hurdle is the loss of family, friends and colleagues from that break up. Every support system was utterly destroyed. Despite talking light-heartedly about Illinois on Unsolved, Shane doesn't have a home there anymore. It's why Shane stays in LA with the Friendsgiving crowd like Eugene, Andrew, and few others.

"I appreciate all of that." Shane's smile is a little strained, but it's still genuine. "I guess, all the work, the recovery, the rebuilding I've been doing, since starting therapy is...collapsing." Resting his arm on the table, Shane roughly runs a hand through his hair. "It's the first time Ryan and I had a conflict like this in our relationship. I mean-- if you can even call it a conflict? Just to be clear, we didn't fight. We're just...taking some time apart. But--" Shane hesitates. He stalls by studying the obscure scratches on the table. "I think there's something else going on...Maybe? I'm not sure." Quietly, Shane sighs. "I think it might be dom drop."

Andrew's eyes widen as his breath hitches. "Shane." 

After a contemplative moment, Eugene asks, "Does Ryan know?"

Shane shakes his head. "Ry already has enough on his plate. I don't want to bother him. Anyways-" He tries for another laugh while shrugging. "Maybe it's not dom drop. Might just be my anxiety acting up again, a bit of depression kicking in, or something else all together."

"I understand that you don't want to trouble anyone. But there's nothing wrong with expressing your concerns. Everything you're feeling is real and valid." Eugene gestures with a hand to emphasize key points. "You _need_ to talk with Ryan about this. He's your partner."

Andrew nods in agreement. "And it's most important when you're in a d/s dynamic. Support doesn't end just when the scene ends."

Even before their current relationships, their closest circle of friends have been talking about d/s. No one shares any explicit details in order to respect their partners' privacy. Their discussions revolve around safety, consent, vulnerabilities, growth and education. And it's always good to check-in with each other from time to time.

"By any chance, does this have to do with why Ryan and you have been..." Andrew hums while searching for the right word. "--distant?"

"Yeah. Kinda. I think?" Shane won't share how he offered a training collar to Ryan. Not when he doesn't have his boyfriend's permission. Andrew and Eugene have enough tact and common sense to not overly pry. "I know I shouldn't keep being influenced by my--" _'trauma'_ comes to mind. But Shane still struggles with voicing that word out loud in a personal context. "-- _my history._ I know that Ryan isn't my ex. I fucking _know_ that." Frustration simmers down into weariness. "But I worry if I'm being a good enough of a partner to Ryan. Both in the vanilla and d/s areas of our relationship."

"What makes you feel like you're not enough?"

With heavy silence, Shane goes through mental gymnastics. Shane realizes he's not most impacted by Ryan not accepting the collar. What Shane can't get out of mind is Ryan's stricken, haunted expression.

"Ryan's hurting. And I don't know why." Shane's voice barely rises above a whisper. "I've tried asking, but he hasn't given any answers. Maybe I still haven't earned Ryan's trust after all." As the words escape, Shane's insides twist painfully. "It feels selfish that I'm hurting over this, because it's not about _me._ It's about _Ryan._ I should be thinking about what I can do better, how I can help him, what I did wrong-"

"Shane." Eugene touches the inside of Shane's wrist. "Breathe."

Suddenly, Shane's aware of the staccato nature of his breathing. He watches his hands tremble ever so slightly. In an attempt to steady himself, Shane clenches a fist. He fights back tears burning his eyes.

"Ryan said yes to moving in with me. And I couldn't be more grateful for that. But--" The keys in his pocket feels like heavy lead. If Shane fell into the ocean, he would sink with no chances of reaching the surface again. Shane wonders if Ryan kept the apartment key. Or if it's already been forgotten. "He hasn't come home yet. _I_ fucked up. God _damnit!_ "

With a fist slamming on the table, Shane jumps to his feet. He paces around restlessly. It only agitates him more, since this room so bloody small. "I always ruin everything. So, I--" Shane swallows hard. "When I can't sleep, I've been reanalyzing everything. Trying to see if there's something I missed."

Shane runs a hand through his hair. He's lost count of how many times he's done that, since stepping into this room. The words won't stop. They rush out like a long overdue thunderstorm flood.

"Ryan and I have always been good about communicating." With a gesturing hand, Shane cuts harsh shapes into the air. He could give a TEDTalk on how communication is critical in any kind of relationship. "It's only with what's happened recently that we haven't talked. Not in-depth, anyways. I'm more than open to giving Ryan space and time. I never want him to feel trapped. I just-"

His nails almost break through skin. But Shane releases his fists at the last second. Angry crescent moons mar his palms. At least, there's no blood.

Finally, Shane confesses, "I'm scared."

It feels like Shane's betraying himself by uttering those words out loud. He faces the window with closed blinds. "What if I haven't been loving Ryan the way he deserves? That's what I promised I would do going into our relationship. But Jesus Christ, I'm just-- I'm fucking up."

Shane collapses back into his seat. He tries to catch his breath. Volatile, emotional outbursts are rare from him. But when they do happen, Shane's left beyond drained. 

There's a lull of silence as Eugene and Andrew take this in. At the same time, Andrew rubs circles on Shane's back to help him breathe. Eugene uncurls Shane's fingers, and keeps them from inflicting any more damage.

Anxiety is a cruel, savage shapeshifter. One second, anxiety is a meat mallet bashing Shane's lungs into raw carnage. Then anxiety mutates into countless wires electrocuting every neuron. All just to dropkick his flayed body into a vat of acid, and hold him down under.

"You didn't fuck up." Andrew keeps pressing on even when he sees Shane trying to withdraw. "When we don't understand what's going on, we tend to blame ourselves. But Shane, we all know you. And we know that you love Ryan so much. You'd never intentionally try to hurt him."

Alarm jolts Shane. "Yeah, I- Fuck-- I'd _never_ want to hurt, Ryan. Honestly-" He lets out another shaky laugh. "I'm less concerned about Ry being like my ex, because I know that's not who he is. I trust him. But-- I have an irrational fear that... _I_ might become like my ex?"

"No way," Eugene cuts in. "I'm aware some people have the school of thought that abusers make abusers. But that's sure as Hell not you, Shane. Nothing about you is like that monster. As fucked up it is that trauma might be part of us, it doesn't define who we are. Only _you_ can choose that for _yourself._ " Eugene blinks back tears. "You've said that to Drew and me."

"You're both good," Shane says with all his heart.

"So, are you, dude." Andrew smiles in reassurance. "And for sure, Ryan believes in that too."

"Also let's be real--" Eugene's gaze steels with a fierce, dangerous light. "Our group is fucking protective. None of us would tolerate a person being abusive, toxic, anything remotely fucked up. Even if it's someone we know."

Nodding, Shane sits up straight. He wipes at his damp eyes with the heel of his hand. "Yeah. Definitely. We don't stand for any of that bullshit." Luckily, everyone in their friend group has good minds, and even better hearts. They've all pulled through for each other numerous times. It's why Shane feels safe with them.

"Would it help if any of us--" Andrew gestures at Eugene and himself, "--talked with Ryan? Or it could be someone else in our group. We're here to support you guys."

In any other situation, Shane might accept the generous offer. But this time, Shane decides otherwise. "That really means a lot. But I'll take this one, and talk with Ryan." Shane smiles. "I'm still going to give him some time. Ryan asked for it, so I'm going to respect that."

"Alright, man." Eugene lightly squeezes Shane's shoulder. "Just know that we're here for you."

"And thanks for opening up to us," Andrew adds with a smile.

Shane laughs breathlessly. "Thanks for getting me out of my head."

"You've done the same for us." Eugene claps Shane on the back, then stands up. "How about we grab dinner?" 

With a grin, Shane follows suit. "Yeah, I'm down." 

"Might be a good chance to check out the Thai place Ned was talking about." As Andrew stands, he slides the chair back in. "Stevie's heard good things about it too."

"Does this mean I get a front-row seat to some Fancy Boy critique?" Shane quips back. "Or maybe not if this place doesn't have appetizers with gold?"

Andrew almost wheezes. "Holy fuck, Madej. That's the first time you've roasted me in days."

"Drew," Eugene warns while shaking his head, "don't-"

Shane throws an arm over their shoulders each. "We have a lot of catching up to do over dinner!" He waves the stack of print-outs from earlier. The theatrics are rolling back in. "Y'all wouldn't believe how many new ways I've thought of murdering Worth It!"

Instead of his signature deadpan, Andrew just looks emotional. Eugene's feigned exasperation lasts only a few seconds before he's laughing.

Most of the office has left for the day. While gathering his belongings, Shane can't help, but glance at Ryan's empty work desk. A painful throe resonates inside. But it's interrupted by Steven tackling him in a hug. While Shane tries to wrap an arm around Steven, Zach tackles him from the other side. Their enthusiasm earns a laugh out of Shane.

As they leave the office together, the white noise in Shane's mind quietens. He knows it'll be a raging symphony of clashing strings once he's alone. But for now, he listens to the sound of his friends' voices. And even his own.

* * *

Every time Shane heads home after work, his heart weighs heavier with each step. He dreads the haunting silence that waits for him. It's almost the end of week, but the couple still hasn't talked yet. Shane's debating on having the conversation this weekend. Or at least, expressing to Ryan why he feels it's important they talk. Meanwhile, Shane can only hope that Ryan's getting enough sleep, eating well, and not burning out from overwork. It hurts to see those dark circles worsening over time.

With a held back sigh, Shane draws out the keys, and unlocks the front door. He only takes a few steps inside before freezing.

Cardboard boxes obscure Shane's view. By first glance, everything appears to be a mess. But there's something familiar about this organized chaos. His heart quickens at the handwriting scrawled in black marker. Hope sparks for the first time in days. Holding his breath, Shane navigates through the maze of boxes. He draws to an abrupt halt in the living room.

The angle of broad shoulders, curving at the ends. Overlarge sweater sleeves rolled up to elbows. Few dark strands sticking out at odd angles. The man rummages through an opened box. Even while staring at his back, Shane recognizes Ryan. When Ryan turns around with an armful of books, he stares with wide-eyes.

There's an odd twist of fondness and heartache as Shane skims over the book spines. King, Shelley and Stoker mix with Gibson, PKD and VanderMeer. Even before they began dating, Ryan and Shane regularly traded novels. On the shelves in this apartment, several of Ryan's horror novels stand with Shane's science fiction literature.

"Shane!" Ryan sets down the books. He's careful not to topple over the stack of aged paperbacks and limited-edition hardcovers. "Sorry about the mess, babe." Laughing sheepishly, Ryan rubs the back of his neck. "I was hoping to get everything unpacked before you came home-"

Shane kisses Ryan hard. Calloused hands take hold of Ryan's face. What began as a rough kiss softens into something kinder, gentler. But it still burns deep, giving shape and existence to feelings that are too pure to be named. Shane's heart aches at the sound of that soft wheeze. He missed that precious sound. Ryan's hand rests on the back of his partner's neck to steady him. The winter inside Shane skips over spring, and dives headfirst into glorious, brilliant summer.

Even once the kiss breaks, they still hold each other tightly. Shuddering gasps fill the room. Shane buries his face into his boyfriend's shoulder. At the warm dampness of Shane's tears, Ryan tightens the embrace.

Softly, Shane whispers, "I missed you."

"Missed you too, love. I'm sorry for being away." Ryan kisses Shane's cheek, then leans back, and smiles warmly. The living room lights catch on the glimmer of tears. Ryan rests his hand on the side of Shane's face. "But I'm home now."

"Same." Shane leans into his partner's touch, and kisses his palm. "Should've told me you're moving in today." With a wry grin, Shane looks over the apartment. "I'd help you haul these boxes in."

"I wanted to surprise you." Ryan dotes on Shane some more with light kisses. "Also they're not too heavy. You wouldn't believe how many boxes are just full of these guys." Ryan points at the nearest open box.

Shane sees the box full of arcade plush prizes. There's nothing brittle and weary about his laughter anymore. "Might be a great time to start our ventriloquist dummy collection." Shane nods over at the window sills. "We can line them up right over there."

Ryan casts an unamused deadpan. _"Shane."_

"Or y'know--" Shane shrugs a shoulder. "An Annabelle doll? One that looks like the original. Not the Conjuring Universe one. If you want, I can build a special lil' box for it. Add some motion-sensor lights. The whole nine-yards, baby."

Shane laughs as Ryan playfully shoves him, and throws out a few bantering remarks. There's no real bite to his words. Ryan leans up to kiss his boyfriend. Shane melts at the endless affection. When the kiss breaks, Shane cards his fingers through soft dark hair. He's met with the sight of Ryan's smile reaching his eyes.

"Maybe we should put a pause on unpacking, order food, and watch something?" Ryan suggests with a hopeful grin.

Shane returns his smile. "Sounds perfect." The tension and anxiety that's been building up finally dissipates. Shane pulls off his messenger bag. "Can you order while I get changed? I'll be right back."

"Sure, dude." Ryan's already drawing out his phone. He pauses when a thought crosses his mind. Looking up, Ryan tugs on Shane's sleeve. "Can I wear your flannel?"

"Which one?"

"Our favorite."

"The red and black one?"

"Yeah!" Ryan smiles. But it falters as he worries his lower lip. "I mean, if that's okay with you? I'm sorry about away for so long. I just-"

"Ry." Shane's fingers curl into dark strands. "When I say you can take your time, I mean it. I'm grateful you came home." Shane presses their lips together softly. "Let me get that shirt for you." 

"Thanks, love." Ryan lightly pecks Shane's cheek. "Does pizza work?"

"Pizza always works," Shane replies with a wink.

While Ryan taps on his phone, Shane heads down the hallway. He pulls off the blue denim jacket, then searches for the flannel. Shane blinks in confusion. "Huh..." Usually, the shirt's kept in the closet, so that Ryan can also find it easily. Shane flips through the hangers, fingers brushing across fabric. Maybe he tucked it away in a drawer this time?

Shane approaches the dresser. After sifting through clothes, Shane slides open the next drawer. He's halfway through when something catches in his peripheral. 

It's Noah.

Smiling.

Standing in the corner.

Holding the flannel.

Not a single part of him is shrouded in darkness. Shane's ex stands in the open, fully lit by bedroom lights. The caricature of mundane normalcy unnerves Shane until fear grips at his throat. It's subtle, yet excruciating as a needle sinking under a fingernail. Shane's breathing escalates. Just like in the past when the Unsolved team was at a diner. Noah was only a few tables over.

And Shane couldn't do anything.

Fear ruptures inside. Seeping through Shane's veins like insidious poison. Pervasive and relentless in nature. It's impossible to quantify terror that's so infinite. Shane's sense of safety in his own home, his own bedroom obliterates into nonexistence. What's taken years to rebuild and relearn unravels in a span of a second.

Shane can't move.

Can't breathe.

Can't call for Ryan.

But Shane wouldn't call for his boyfriend even if his voice worked. Knowing fully well what harm Noah's capable of, Shane never wants Ryan to get caught in the crossfire.

Panic spikes when Noah holds up the shirt in both hands. Fingers dig into the buttoned up center. Each inhale from Shane sounds and feels like swallowing metal shrapnel. Jagged edges shred at his tongue. With the color draining from his face, Shane watches the fabric pull in opposite directions.

Clenching his hand, Shane says what he never could in the past: "Stop it."

His voice wavers and fractures. The dissonance grates at Shane's ears. There's more strained air than tone. For a man who crafts a shield out of self-control and stoicism, Shane's skinning himself alive right now. Exposing even a glimpse of vulnerability guarantees Noah calling checkmate. Back then, Shane never knew what Noah might interpret as offensive, a step out of line, a mistake. So, Shane learned to talk less.

But Shane keeps fighting for his voice. Even if it means bristling anxiety rises higher, and mutates into a gnarled mess of thorns. The acidic ocean that's always been knee-deep reaches up to his chest. It's climbing up Shane's throat, burning at the underside of his jaw. And yet, Shane refuses to stay quiet.

"It's not yours." Even with a wrecked voice, Shane still talks louder. His words are no longer a plea. This is a demand. Shane stands at full height, and squares his shoulders. He thrusts his hand out into the air. "Give it back."

As Noah laughs, apprehension brutally grazes Shane like a rusted saw-tooth blade. It's the same charming laughter that won everyone over-- Shane's family, friends, neighbors, classmates, professors, colleagues. And of course, _Shane_ was the first to be won over. It was a laugh that promised safety, kindness and love.

Only too late did Shane tear off colorful wallpaper to see iron bars. Noah promised a safe haven, but it's been a cage from the start. Whether it was the confines of their old shared home. Or Noah's hand on Shane's thigh under the table in public, applying pressure to fingerprint bruises and teeth marks concealed by jeans, silently demanding Shane to shut up if he ever said anything out of line. Noah repeatedly broke Shane's bones, so there wasn't any chance for mending.

Shane likes to believe he walked away from Noah. But what's closer to the truth is that Shane crawled away. Dragging his upper body across the ground, inches high with his spilled blood. If Noah didn't take a hammer to his knees, then he'd lacerate at the back of calves. Cut across the Achilles tendons for good measure. Maybe kill off blood flow with makeshift tourniquets, and induce irreversible necrosis.

And he would always say this was out of love.

"Everything of yours is _mine,_ Shane. You're _nothing_ without me."

Agonizing solar flares explode across Shane's body. A severe hiss escapes. It's almost sharp enough to cut at the corners of his mouth. On his bare forearms, Shane sees nothing out of the ordinary. But the unseen flames won't extinguish. Phantom burns in the shape of Noah's hands and teeth claim his body.

But Shane clenches his jaw through the invisible wounds, the pain, the anxiety, the terror. He glares fiercely despite the tears. "Give it back." Shane takes a staggering step forward. He can barely breathe. "Give that shirt back." Rib bone after rib bone crumble to expose damaged lungs. He's been rotting from the inside all this time. The poison is trauma. The accelerant is anxiety. _"Fucking give it back!"_ His throat burns hoarse. A near sob scratches at inner walls. His mouth is full with the taste of his own blood. _"It's not yours!"_

Before Shane can approach any closer, Noah digs into the buttoned center, and wrenches the fabric apart. It feels like Shane's being held at point blank range. Instead of staring down the barrel of a gun, Shane's staring at something he fixed with his own hands, something that he shares with Ryan, something that makes him believe his body is his own, something that makes him feel safe--

Even as Shane screams _("STOP, FUCKING STOP-- PLEASE, NO- YOU TOOK EVERYTHING! I HAVE NOTHING LEFT TO GIVE! PLEASE- WHAT MORE DO YOU FUCKING WANT FROM ME--")_ , the shirt stretches and stretches and stretches-- until painstakingly sewn buttons ricochet in all directions, striking hard surfaces and Shane's body like bullets-

* * *

Shane jolts awake with a vicious inhale. A scream lingers on the roof of his mouth. The man coughs, chokes, splutters violently as if a fist slammed into his abdomen. Despite a wildfire scorching all over, Shane's frantic to get out of bed.

Like a feral animal with legs broken and eyes gouged out, he's lost in the vertigo of delirium and panic. The room spins into a demented kaleidoscope composed of abstract, ominous shadows. Shane has no fear of the dark.

Except when any silhouette could be his ex.

With limbs tangling in the sheets, Shane collapses on the ground. He grits his teeth at the hard, unforgiving impact. A string of colorful words hiss across the floor. Shane breathes raggedly through the shockwaves of pain. "Ryan-" Shane gasps out. "Ry, you need to get out of here--" 

Despite the throbbing, Shane pushes onto his feet, dragging sheets caught around an ankle. One hand slaps at the light switch. The other hand reaches for the nearest object, which happens to be the LED alarm clock. With a harsh sweep of his arm, the electrical cord rips out of the wall. Crimson digits blink out into dead darkness on the screen. Shane wields the object, ready to hurl it in self-defense. Erratic eyes stare at the corner of the room.

No one's there.

Shane breathes heavily. He tries to anchor himself while listening to the ambient sounds of LA. Anything from sudden bursts of laughter few blocks down to blaring car horns fading with the Doppler effect.

But everything drowns out into radio static, and sets Shane more on edge. Brown strands fall messily into eyes alight with paranoia. Shane keeps staring at the corner. Grip tightening on the alarm clock. Skin stretching taut white over knuckles. Moments turn into seconds into minutes. But his ex doesn't magically walk through the wall. He doesn't even walk through the bedroom door.

But that man could still be somewhere in this apartment.

Shane surveys the entire bedroom, every inch of the closet, under the bed, in the bathroom, tears back the shower curtain so hard it rips off the rings, around the living room, throughout the kitchen, slamming cabinets open. Everywhere Shane goes, he turns on the lights.

At some point, Shane trades the LED alarm clock for an old Secret Santa gift. With an arcing sweep, the blue plastic extends into a lightsaber. It's just a toy. But if Noah is here, then Shane can use this to strike out while maintaining distance. There are other household items that could be more efficient weapons. But in his current state of mind, Shane's convinced this is the best alternative. He's not trying to murder anyone. Shane's only Hellbent on protecting Ryan and their home.

As Shane turns the entire apartment inside out, he multitasks with a brain that's running on hyperdrive. Shane formulates a plan if there's a physical confrontation. Smash the lightsaber with as much strength, so it breaks. Follow through by hurling the hilt. Always keep an exit within reach. The last thing Shane wants is resorting to violence. Not once did Shane fight back when he was dating Noah.

But that man has no fucking business being in Shane's life anymore. Never again will Shane be dragged back into that cage. And Shane won't let that man infect any of his loved ones.

Shane wants to believe that trauma recovery can be soft and kind. But as human teeth fall out, his tongue brushes over rows of shark fangs. Terror is palatable and pungent in his bloody mouth. This isn't who he wants to be. The acerbic taste in the back of his throat must be rage. The person Shane's most furious at isn't Noah. But at _himself._ Even after all these years, Shane hosts a cesspool of toxins and parasites. When will he fucking heal, and stop being haunted?

Or is Shane always going to be a body on its way to being a corpse, a walking mass of dead body tissue, bearing tourniquets invisible as the damage his ex inflicted?

The thought of no end to trauma breaks apart all poorly done sutures. Despair thick like venomous molasses trickles down his throat, making it damned near impossible to breathe. 

While checking the laundry room, a realization strikes Shane.

He woke up in an empty bed.

"Ryan...?"

His voice carries out into the silence. Shane looks around him. It's as if a tornado ripped through the apartment. He grips the doorway's edge.

"Ry, are you home?"

Shane dashes back into the living room.

There's not a single cardboard box in sight.

"No-" Shane shakes his head. The lightsaber clatters onto the ground. "Fuck, no-" 

He races into the bedroom. No rational train of thought. Only pure instinct. He digs through the closet, throwing clothes in all directions. Shrill sounds join the commotion as hangers clash into each other. Once the closet's emptied, Shane digs through the drawers. An entire drawer falls out. Shane jumps back in time to avoid his feet getting smashed. Not an inch of the floor can be seen while buried under clothes.

Shane's knees hit the ground. He searches with shaking hands. The man doesn't even register that he's caught in the jaws of a panic attack. Every other second, Shane chokes on oxygen and sobs. When too many tears distort his sight, Shane roughly drags the back of his hand across his eyes. Shoulders shake with each overpowering sob.

His hands freeze in midair.

He found it.

Slowly, Shane reaches for the black and red flannel.

Shane carries the shirt back to bed. He inspects it to make sure the clothing's intact. There's not even one loose thread. His thumb runs over the top iridescent button. Sometimes, Shane recalls the sting of a needle when he fixed the shirt, and sewed new buttons on. The man went through a box of bandaids quickly.

He lays in the cold, empty bed, and presses his cheek against the patterned fabric. From all the times Ryan has worn it, the shirt carries his comforting scent.

But Ryan isn't here.

Maybe he's never coming home.

And maybe that's for the best. Ryan doesn't need to witness Shane bury his face into the shirt, and fail at stifling a scream. Or watch Shane fall apart into a frightened, paranoid mess, because of a stupid fucking nightmare. Even if his ex-boyfriend is literally miles away, terror still plagues Shane. He doesn't know if it's the panic attack choking him, or if he's smothering himself with the shirt. Eventually, there are no more screams left. But there's still an infinite reservoir of tears.

Through a Gaussian blurred vision, Shane keeps an eye on the bedroom corner.

Watching and waiting for his worst ghost to reappear.

All the lights remain on.

Shane doesn't sleep.

* * *

Nothing seems out of the ordinary on-camera. The Unsolved duo jests endlessly. Ryan shouts at gravity and dust. Shane laughs at the randomly flickering flashlight. But for the Unsolved crew, they know something's not quite right. The crew tries their best to be supportive. However Ryan and Shane insist that everything's fine.

Like most Unsolved Supernatural shoots, Shane embarks on the solo exploration first. Shane usually sneaks a kiss against Ryan's cheek before leaving. But when Ryan suddenly gets busy tinkering with the spirit box, Shane tightens his grip on the flashlight.

Shane gives the camera his well-practiced smile. He even throws in a wink. "Let's go have some fun, yeah?" 

He heads into the old mansion alone. Shane's been making an effort to be more respectful towards supposed paranormal entities. But something about this location sets Shane on edge.

Or maybe it's the recent nightmare about his ex, the daily suffocating anxiety, and the uncertainty about his relationship with Ryan. This mess of emotional turmoil festers into an open infection. No matter how much Shane stabs at it with a knife, or digs at it with his nails, he still can't reach the infection's root.

"If anyone's around, feel free to say hi." Shane gestures with the flashlight. Now would be the time to crack a few jokes, sprinkle in some puns, maybe sing an upbeat jingle.

Instead Shane breaks out into a laugh. It's tinged with subtle hysteria rather than his usual good-natured humor.

"I'm just talking to air. To nothing. Looking real fuckin' crazy, huh?" Shane laughs harder, shaking his head. "But I guess that's nothing new. Been called crazy before." His abdomen aches from laughing so much. Shane can barely catch his breath. "Isn't that just wild? Gosh darn funny how people will believe in ghosts and demons and other bullshit, but not--" 

A rational part of Shane's mind tells him to shut the fuck up. This isn't the time and place to reveal his past to the Internet. Shane bites on the inside of his cheek. Almost hard enough to taste copper. But as the man ventures deeper into the archaic building, his filter erodes. 

"It's totally fine if y'all don't feel like talking." Shane shrugs in nonchalance, then smirks sardonically. "Maybe you wanna hurt me instead? Might be more entertaining for you, huh? Well, then-- let's fucking go! C'mon!" His voice raises louder with each taunt. Words echo in the dusty air, reverberating around him. _"Fucking come at me!"_

The flashlight doesn't reach the mass of shadows at the hallway's end. But Shane keeps charging forward. "Any of y'all familiar with Nietzsche?" Shane chuckles while turning a corner. "He'd have a field day. 'cause I ain't just gazing into the abyss. _I'm shouting at you!_ So, how about you shout back?! I'm right here!"

This isn't the usual faux madness Shane plays on-camera. This is genuine, raw rage. Red colors his vision. After an overdose of fear from the recent nightmare, maybe Shane should be in a near catatonic state. Instead Shane's been hyper-vigilant 24 hours around the clock. This isolating, dark environment dials up Shane's survival instincts. Every muscle is wired up to attack.

"You think you can hurt me? After everything I've been through?" Shane lets out bark of laughter. It sounds ugly and broken even to his own ears. Shane almost keels over from the increasing hysteria. "I'm already _so fucked up_ that not even _Satan_ could fuck me up. Why don't'cha do me a favor, and claw my skin off? My body doesn't even feel like mine anymore."

He goes further into the labyrinth of dark corridors. The flashlight's white beam cuts through the air. But Shane's not in a rumored haunted mansion anymore. He's walking the halls of his old home, trapped in an M.C. Escher paradox, no way out. Shane doesn't know if he's struggling to breathe from chaotic movements, or if it's the dangerously approaching panic attack.

All senses skyrocket and calibrate to max alert. Every sound amplifies tenfold. His body oscillates between freezing from the cold atmosphere, and burning up from overheating. The man isn't frightened by any bizarre shadows revealed by the flashlight. Amorphous shapes only fuel Shane's instincts to fight.

"If you ghosts or demons or whatever the fuck's out there wants to hurt me, tonight's the night. 'cause _goddamn--_ "

Throwing his head back, Shane laughs breathlessly. It trails off with traces of grief. The man slows to a halt. He almost loses grasp on the flashlight.

"I'm so fucking tired."

Every syllable splinters. There's more heartache than fury to those words. Shane feels his mind on the brink of disassociating. If he's not here, then he can't feel, he can't think, it's the closest to not existing without being dead. But with all of this trauma is Shane even really alive?

What if _he's_ the ghost?

"No," Shane whispers. "No, no, _no-_ " Brokenness gives way to unbridled rage. He stands up straight. "No. Fuck that." Shane grips the flashlight like it's both a lifeline and weapon. His sleeve roughly wipes across damp eyes, leaving behind a burning, resolute glare.

Shane resumes walking at a brisker pace. It's hard to tell if Shane's being chased, or if he's the one hunting. Phantom burns come to life with each step forward. Words covered in thorns keep spitting out, scratching up his throat and tongue.

Everything disintegrates into sound bites. His voice clips out while storming through the mansion. _"-fight me, you cowards!-"_ while turning a corner, _"--you lazy fucks, do I gotta draw a pentagram in my own blood-"_ when climbing a spiral staircase, _"-what more do you want from me?"_ during a trek down a pitch black hall, _"--some people think_ I'm _a demon? Wonder what they'd call_ him-- _"_ a short burst of laughter dances off the cracked windows.

His vocal chords trade out with the spirit box. Instead of alternating through radio wave frequencies, this machine switches at lightning speed through fear, anxiety, grief, fury, guilt, and a clusterfuck of venomous emotions.

_"-I'M NOT FUCKING AFRAID OF YOU! C'MON! LET'S GO! HURT ME, GODDAMNIT! I'M FUCKING USED TO IT! I--"_

Shane cuts off when strong arms catch him from behind. His voice twists with a choking sound. Terror sledgehammers into Shane hard. He's a fraction of a second away from lashing out.

"Shane."

That familiar voice rings clear through white noise. Slowly, Shane turns around in the embrace. His eyes widen at the sight of Ryan. Vehement emotions extinguish instantly. Staggered breathing fills the heavy atmosphere. Ryan keeps his face against Shane's chest. 

"...Ry? What's wrong?" Shane wraps an arm around Ryan protectively. "Holy fuck. Did you run all the way in here? Are you okay?"

The flashlight shining off to the side reflects on Ryan's tears. _"I love you."_ Ryan still panting after running to reach Shane. He takes Shane's face in his hands. "Shane, I love you so fucking much."

Shane blinks as Ryan wipes at damp streaks. He didn't even realize he was crying. All the tension bleeds away. His mind replays a spliced together film reel of what he's done in the mansion. Shame throws gallons of salt onto raw wounds.

Closing his eyes, Shane tries to hide his face against Ryan's palm. "I love you, too."

Ryan draws his partner in for a kiss. Shane meets him halfway. Neither of them care how the self-cams are still rolling. Most of this footage will be heavily edited. Ryan will make sure of it. The world doesn't need to see what Shane's isn't ready to share.

After the kiss breaks, Shane buries his face into Ryan's shoulder. "...you're really here? I'm not sleeping?"

Another wave of tears surface in Ryan's wide eyes. Ryan bites back a strangled noise, and tightens the embrace.

"I'm right here. Let's go home."

* * *

After pulling themselves together, Ryan and Shane finish shooting on-location. They're quiet while traveling back to LA. Somewhere between getting off the plane, and shuffling out of LAX, the couple agrees to talk at Shane's place.

During the way back, Ryan stays close to Shane-- whether it's holding his hand, looping an arm through his elbow, leaning against him, or just standing nearby. Shane doesn't hesitate to reciprocate. He intertwines their fingers, pulls Ryan in closer, brushes his lips across his boyfriend's temple. When Ryan hides his face against Shane's shoulder during the rideshare, Shane feels a few tears. He blinks back his own tears, and holds onto Ryan's hand tighter.

Ryan approaches Shane's front door to unlock it.

In quiet surprise, Shane asks, "You kept the key?"

Ryan pauses before turning around. "Why wouldn't I?" He looks at the key, then at Shane. Vulnerability wavers in Ryan's eyes. "Do you...want it back?"

"It's yours." Shane closes Ryan's hand over the key. He guides them inside, and closes the door. Shane's hand lingers on the door handle. "And this is your home. Our home. If you still want that."

"Of course, I still want that. Shane--" Ryan's voice breaks. He holds the key tightly. The metal digs into his palm to leave indentions. "I'm so sorry about everything."

Shane shakes his head. "Ry, you don't need to apologize. I'm the one that fucked up." With his gaze still downcast, Shane heaves a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted like that during the shoot. It was unprofessional. I understand if you want a different co-host." His insides twist painfully. This isn't how Shane imagined the conversation starting, but he bites the bullet. "And if...this-...us...If you'd rather not- like- If you don't want to be together anymor-"

Shane's voice cuts off when Ryan's lips collide into his. While surging into the kiss, Ryan pins Shane up against the wall. There's an apology on the tip of Ryan's tongue for being rough. But Shane only pulls Ryan in closer with a hand on his hip, and fingers clutching at his sweater. Ryan reaches up to cradle the back of Shane's head. The kiss is messy and desperate, bleeding heartache and apologies at the edges, swallowing down fractured sobs. Now that they're alone, tears spill over openly.

"Shane." Ryan looks up at him while drying Shane's tears. "You're my partner. In Unsolved. In life. I don't care how many times I have to run after you in the dark. I'll find you. And I-" His voice splinters with an onslaught of sobs. "I'm so sorry it took me this long to come home."

Shane rests their foreheads together, and lightly grasps Ryan's wrists. He feels the pulse jumping under his touch. Shane's throat is a mess from over-exhaustion. But he still whispers, "I love you." Shane turns his head to press a kiss to Ryan's palm. "Darling--" He takes in another shaky breath. A tear falls into Ryan's hand, tracing along the lines. "I missed you so much."

Ryan's heart collapses even more. "Missed you too. Every fucking day." Ryan follows a tear until his lips touch the corner of Shane's mouth. "C'mere."

Shane lets Ryan lead him towards the sofa. It's Shane's first instinct to pull Ryan into his arms. Instead Ryan guides Shane's head to rest in his lap. Shane lays on his side, burying his face into his partner's abdomen. More of the heavy armor chips away.

"You're safe here." Ryan cards his fingers through Shane's hair, and occasionally dries stray tears. His other hand holds onto Shane's. "I want to know what you're thinking. Feeling. All of it."

In his past relationship, Shane was always balancing precariously on a tightrope. Paralyzed by the fear of making mistakes, of doing or saying something wrong. But here's Ryan reassuring Shane they're both in a safe space.

So, why is Shane's anxiety still so fucking high?

"It's like multiple trains crashing into each other. There's some histor-" Shane breathes in deep, then tries again. "There's some trauma from what happened in the past that's resurfacing. Along with-...I think I've been-" In hesitation, Shane free hand curls into Ryan's sweater. "I think I've been going through dom drop...?"

Slowly, Ryan's eyes widen. The color drains from his face. "Oh, god-- Babe-" Ryan lays down, so they're facing each other. He keeps an arm securely around his partner. "Shane, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have been distant. I should've checked in with you sooner."

"No, Ryan--" Shane shakes his head. "It's okay."

"It's _not_ okay. No matter which d/s role I take on, I should've followed up with you. I swear, Shane, I'll never make that mistake again." Tears gather in Ryan's eyes. "I'm not trying to make any excuse. I completely own up to my mistake. It's just- I was-" He draws in a rough inhale. "I was so blinded by my own fears and anxieties. It kept me from being where I need and want to be the most." The breaking words carry a sob. "Right here with you."

Shane feels waves of tremors in Ryan. Both of their anxieties are soaring past the stratosphere. Before saying anything, Shane presses their lips together. It's a slow, soft kiss. A way for them to relearn each other. Gradually, the shaking frames and strained breathing quell.

"I appreciate your apology. But Ryan-- I know that you weren't trying to hurt me on purpose. Also I should've been more forward earlier." He brushes away Ryan's tears with a soft smile. "Maybe we can work on communicating with each other better?"

"Yeah, that sounds great. I'm down to work on that with you." Ryan returns Shane's smile, then kisses his cheek. "What else is on your mind?"

Shane idly plays with the end of Ryan's shirt. "How can I be a better dom for you? And a better sub, for that matter." Breathing in, Shane withdraws his hand. Everything feels so raw. "What I'm asking is-- how I can be a better partner?"

Ryan sees Shane trying to recede after pouring out his vulnerabilities. So, Ryan kisses him. The press of their lips keeps Shane tethered in this moment.

"I'm proud of you for asking." Ryan reaches for Shane's hand. "I know it's not easy to bring up these questions." It involves unearthing a whole slew of insecurities, anxieties, and more uncomfortable emotions. In the past, Ryan's struggled with these questions as well. It'll probably happen again, since these aren't matters resolved overnight. Ryan holds Shane's face in his hands. "You're already more than enough, Shane. Always have been. Always will be. You're perfect to me."

The verbal affirmation unravels Shane even more. His throat chokes up too much for any coherent response. There are still ongoing flickers of anxiety, self-doubt and guilt.

But Ryan isn't deterred. Now is when he's going to love Shane harder than ever. "Shane, when I didn't accept the collar that night, and I was away for a while-- it's not anything that you did. I'm so sorry for making you feel or think that way." Ryan breathes through another rush of tears. "I appreciate you being understanding of how I needed space and time. But I also acknowledge that I ran. You deserve better than that. And I'll prove to you that I'm never running again."

Ryan leans in to kiss Shane softly. Shane doesn't hesitate to return it. Their lips part with a held back sob from Shane. Ryan pulls his boyfriend in closer.

"You make me feel so safe. And respected. And loved." Ryan presses a kiss to Shane's knuckles. "You know exactly how to dom for me." He nuzzles Shane with a soft purr.

It's impossible for Shane not to melt. He returns Ryan's affections with light touches. However there's still a bit of uncertainty. "You don't think I'm-...too soft of a dom?"

"Being 'too soft' or 'soft' in general isn't bad," Ryan reminds gently. "You're perfect. Still amazed at how lucky I am to have you as my partner." A warm smile accompanies the words. "I need someone who's nurturing. Gentle. Kind. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with dominants who have a more sadistic style. Y'know-- obviously as long as everyone is legal, consenting, safe, and sane. But the way _you_ dom for _me_ is just right. Absolutely what I need and want." Ryan's lips brush across Shane's neck. "Same goes for when you sub. Always so sweet and loving. You're the absolute best pet."

Shane gets shy at the praise, and tries to hide his face. But Ryan just dotes on him with more kisses. Eventually, Ryan gets Shane to laugh. The sound warms up the room.

"Honestly--" Ryan brushes the brown bangs out of Shane's eyes. "I never imagined I'd experience d/s again until you. And with you, it's _real_ d/s. In the past, I-" A glimpse of trepidation shows through the cracks. "I didn't feel safe. I felt like-- I _didn't deserve_ to feel safe. Or wanted. Or loved."

All warning flags and sirens go off in Shane's mind simultaneously. His fingertips brush across Ryan's cheek.

"Ry, who hurt you?"

Closing his eyes, Ryan presses his lips to calloused fingers. He counts silent numbers to steady his breathing.

"Remember when you told me about being haunted by someone who isn't dead?" After a moment, Ryan opens his eyes, and strains a smile. "Guess you could say I have a handful of ghosts."

Pain lances across Shane at those words. He sits up while staying close. "Ryan--" Shane reaches for his partner's hand, and intertwines their fingers. "I'm listening."

"It's a long story." Ryan laughs in an attempt to hide tears. He pulls himself upright, and leans against Shane. Dark bangs curtain over his eyes. "It's also an ugly story."

Shane pulls Ryan into his arms. "You don't have to live with that story alone."

More tears burn Ryan's eyes. Shane lifts Ryan's hand to kiss his wrist. The gesture's so kind and soft. But it hits Ryan hard enough to bring out another sob. Shane kisses him. It doesn't matter to Shane how Ryan's crying more than kissing. What matters is being together, even when all seams and sutures have come undone.

After their lips part, Ryan draws in a slow breath. He holds onto Shane's hand like a lifeline.

"It started years ago. Before Unsolved. Before you and me--"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter ;u; ♡ I'm so happy to share another Shyan story, and keep building my (ex)Buzzfeed Extended Universe (= BFU / Watcher / TTG / WI.) For more insight into Ryan and Shane, you're welcome to check out [the sun will rise & we will try again. (i want to say hello.)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24620647) It's my first Standrew fic, and takes place before this Shyan fic. Shane talks about his experiences with therapy, mental health struggles, and how he wants to ask Ryan to move-in. Ryan touches on his coming out experience and family background. Lot of Shyan fluff! uwu 
> 
> Once again, thanks for reading! I've been writing these (ex)BF Extended Universe fics during some rough storms in my life. I'm grateful to have writing as an anchor, and share these stories with you. I hope you'll return for the following chapters! Kudos, comments, and so on are always appreciated. ♡ Stay safe, take care of yourselves, and have a great day! ♡
> 
> REFERENCES / INSPIRATION:  
> \- Fic parentheses title: ['Shake It Out' - Florence + The Machine](https://youtu.be/AHDED8S8CYI)
> 
> [ Disclaimer: This is 100% a work of fiction. Family members and supporting characters are fictional original characters. No association with the real Ryan Bergara, Shane Madej, Andrew Ilnyckyj, Steven Lim, Eugene Lee Yang, Zach Kornfeld, Ned Fulmer, Keith Habersberger, and any other mentioned RPF individuals. ]


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: past abuse, past EDNOS, past gaslighting, past infidelity, past toxic relationship, past self-harm, past implied/referenced suicide attempt, past breakup, blood, light violence and body horror (metaphors), past subdrop, past negative BDSM etiquette, past homophobia, past kink shaming, past slut shaming, past use of derogatory terms, past racism, body insecurities, trauma, mental health, NSFW. (Past abuse + bad BDSM etiquette + infidelity + dubcon + anything harmful NOT between Ryan and Shane.)
> 
> \-- Zach, Eugene, Keith and Ned: [i'll take your hand when thunder roars. ](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696462)
> 
> \-- Steven and Andrew: [& all i can breathe is your life. (have heart, my dear.)](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1780078)
> 
> **Please do not share this with Buzzfeed Unsolved, Watcher, Worth It, The Try Guys, or any other RPF individuals. This is not for them to read. Thank you!

> " _You_ want to _dom?_ "
> 
> A book pauses halfway as it's being shelved. The single eye from The Invisible Man's first edition cover peers out. Ryan blinks at the notes of incredulity in his partner's voice. The sheer disbelief rings loud and clear. And yet it's a melody that doesn't fit with the rest of the song. Ryan tries to shake off the initial dissonance. It's okay. Surely, he heard wrong.
> 
> "Yeah, I'd love to try it with you." With a few books in his hands, Ryan turns away from the shelves. His thumb runs over the weathered Shirley Jackson novel. Passage of time has dipped the pages in pale ochre. Ryan traces along a diagonal crease running across the upper right corner. "It's something we can explore together, Trev. But only if it's also something you want."
> 
> "Well--" The last syllable drags in amusement. Trevor tilts his head. In this warm afternoon light, russet highlights stand out. "I won't deny that I'm intrigued." Chuckling, the man leans back on the sofa. One arm rests over the top edge. "C'mere." His free hand beckons Ryan closer. "And stop fidgeting with those old books. There's no point in organizing them. We collect them just for aesthetics."
> 
> Subtly, Ryan's grasp tightens on the novels. He's read each one. Some even twice, thrice, and more. Corners bend into dog-ear folds for pages that emotionally resonate, or provoke insights. Pens and highlighters color the guts between cracked paperbacks and well-worn hardcovers. Personal observations scribble in the margins. The empty space is treated like a journal. Ryan hunts through used bookstores in hopes of finding books marked by previous readers. There's magic to reading other people's annotations-- whether they're objectively dissecting the narrative, or underlining lines that catch their eye. Perhaps even their hearts.
> 
> Past attempts have been made to share writing excerpts with Trevor. Endeared, his partner remarks that Ryan has an uncanny talent for vandalizing books with neon streaks and ballpoint ink, chasing after children's fairy tales of monsters and boogeymen. 
> 
> It's okay. Maybe horror isn't a genre Trevor's into. Same goes for anything to do with conspiracies, the paranormal, sports...It's okay, Ryan reminds himself. Couples can have different interests. He can talk less about what he likes, and listen more to what Trevor likes.
> 
> With gentle care, Ryan sets the books back on the shelf. He joins his boyfriend on the sofa. Before Ryan even gets settled, Trevor grasps his thigh.
> 
> "Don't take this the wrong way, babe." Trevor caresses Ryan's leg. Finger skate along the inner denim seam. "But you don't exactly look or act the part of a dom."
> 
> "I-..." Ryan's brain malfunctions until it's lagging. His mind can't process that statement. "What?" As Ryan's voice box breaks, he can only emit the most basic words. There's an excruciating delay with comprehending what his partner just said. His ears feel trapped in a void like when an airplane shifts altitudes.
> 
> "You said you're a switch, right?" Trevor waits until Ryan answers with a nod. "Well, that's actually great for us. Because you still have the option of being a sub. And honestly, you're better suited for that." In a calculating manner, he looks Ryan up and down. Green eyes carry the same piercing, scrutinizing gleam as when Trevor studies architectural drawings. "You just need a a few minor changes." A broad grin breaks out. "All very possible!"
> 
> Optimism and positivity radiates from Trevor. Everything's amplified by his warm, beaming smile. He's designed the most exquisite spaces in hideous, unwanted places. Ryan can't think of a time when Trevor gave up on a project. His partner holds the belief that beauty can be created with the right hands and mind. The solid self-assurance is what that drew Ryan in the first place.
> 
> Yet something still catches at Ryan's chest-- like fishing hooks pulling at his skin. Sharp, curved metal digs in deep, and yanks with increasing force. His body's suspended above the ground. It's uncertain when the hooks will tear through flesh, and plunge Ryan into the unknown. An abyss he's already been staring too long at. Or perhaps he'll crash into hard, unforgiving ground. Choking and spluttering and gasping on his own mess of bones and viscera.
> 
> "Trev, I don't--" Ryan's gaze wavers until it breaks away.
> 
> The sofa feels too small. Sounds of the film onscreen distort and fade. It's supposedly an arthouse movie. Ryan's enjoyed a fair share of arthouse films, and he remains open-minded about different approaches to film making. But something about the ones Trevor chooses feels...off. Trevor insists that Ryan needs more refined tastes to appreciate real cinema.
> 
> "I don't understand," Ryan admits tentatively. "Why should I only sub?"
> 
> Shaking his head, Trevor laughs. "C'mon, love." He waves a hand at his partner. "You're short, small, not exactly the most masculine guy. Now, there's nothing wrong with any of that. You know that I adore you." He makes his point by kissing Ryan's forehead, and roughly groping his ass. "But twinks don't make good doms. There's a reason my designs are award-winning. I stay true to the principal of form follows function." When Trevor sees the conflicted emotions swimming in Ryan's eyes, he hums. The man rephrases in a simplified manner, "Or think of it like-- a chihuahua trying to be a wolf. Doesn't make sense. And I have more experience, remember? If I can design perfect buildings, then I can design a perfect you."
> 
> Wait--
> 
> What?
> 
> Ryan's not masculine?
> 
> What makes someone masculine? Is he not enough of a man? Is he not _a real man_ to his partner? _Is he not good enough at all?_ What does being masculine have to do with being dominant? Why can't someone of a particular body type not dom? _Is his body not okay?_ Is he not attractive _to his partner?_ How are chihuahuas and wolves involved in this?
> 
> A million questions fire off in Ryan's mind. Ricocheting off the interior walls of his skull. The fishing hooks strain further from his body, stretching strips of flesh. Ryan almost welcomes the sensation flaying him alive. It serves as a distraction from the abrupt repulsion he feels towards his own body. The aversion is blistering and visceral. What's worse is that it feels familiar. Like an old friend turned toxic. You cut them out of your life. But somedays, they knock at the door. A fist banging on the hard surface. Or an axe slamming into the wood, exploding splinters everywhere.
> 
> Ryan grew up vaguely disconnected from his body. Starting with kindergarten classmates not understanding Ryan's combination of facial features and skin color. They ask, _"Where are you from?"_ And when he answers, _"California,"_ nobody believes him. The confusion grows amongst elementary children when Ryan explains his family history during a presentation. Kids call him a _'liar'_ for being Japanese, Mexican, and Filipino. He doesn't fit their image of what they have in their minds, and how they view the world. Even teachers have to do a double-take when they read his full name off the roster, and see what he looks like in-person. His skin is too dark for some. His eyes are the wrong shape for others.
> 
> And now, Ryan learns that he's not masculine enough for his partner.
> 
> Trevor keeps touching him. A hand almost bruising his inner thigh. Teeth grazing across his shoulder. It's jarring to be handled so roughly after being told his body doesn't satisfy the man he loves. Something bristles across Ryan's skin. It's unknown and terrifying. Like a pervasive poison, it seeps inside until crawling through his veins. For a fleeting moment, Ryan wonders if he'll ever feel at home in his own body. Or maybe the idea of being comfortable in his own skin is just wishful thinking.
> 
> Ryan should feel safe with Trevor. Ryan _is_ safe with Trevor. Everything Trevor says is logical and sound. Trevor has Ryan's best interests in mind. Because Trevor loves him.
> 
> "I'm sorry." Ryan's voice sounds far-off. It echoes the quiet nature of his voice while growing up, and being told that he's made wrong. "I shouldn't have asked a stupid question."
> 
> "Hey, no worries." Trevor smiles in gentle reassurance. "You're new to all this, so you're still learning. All you need to do is listen to me." A hand slips under Ryan's shirt. Humming, Trevor feels the defined abdomen muscles. "Let's start with losing this."
> 
> Ryan blinks. The words make less sense than the unorganized bookshelves across from him. "What?"
> 
> Blunt nails drag with slow, measured precision. "Less muscle. More bones. If I was ever a man of aesthetics-- that's what I'm into." Trevor holds his smile. Flawless teeth. His other hand catches Ryan's throat, and caresses the jaw. A thumb presses against the rabbit heart pulse. "You want to look good for me, don't you?"
> 
> Before Ryan can answer, he's silenced by a kiss.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **( sms: ryan )** Sorry, dude. But I'm gonna have to pass on the game.
> 
> **( sms: ryan )** Maybe next time?
> 
> It takes nearly twenty minutes to write out the text message. A loop of editing, retyping, deleting, restarting, even pulling out the digital thesaurus at one point. What begins as a novel-length response finally whittles down to a few lines. Ryan presses Send before he goes through another lengthy round of iterations.
> 
> Just as Ryan's about to set his phone down, the screen lights up with a call. Vibrations from the device rattle around in Ryan's hand. Anxiety sucker punches him in the stomach. Today, anxiety even wears iron across its knuckles. There's the option of letting the call go to voicemail. But that means carrying around a verbal explosive in his phone until Ryan detonates it. Rather than listening to scathing recorded words, Ryan bites the bullet, and answers the call.
> 
> "Hello-"
> 
> _"Why aren't you playing anymore?"_
> 
> Ryan winces at the caustic tone. His free hand musses his hair, and pulls at the locks. Even when they're not in the same room, Ryan can feel his younger brother's glare. "Cal, I'm just busy. Y'know-- with college and stuff."
> 
> _"Dude, you've always gotten your work done ahead of time. Just so we have time to play ball. We haven't played in_ months. _And if you were legit busy, I'd know."_
> 
> "I'm just-" Ryan paces around the room. When he draws his hand away from his hair, a few dark strands twine around his fingers. Ryan passes by the bookshelves that remain unorganized. "I'm not into basketball that much anymore, okay?"
> 
> Radio silence fills the space between them. It draws on for a beat too long. Until Caleb lets out a wheezing laugh the Bergara brothers are known for.
> 
> _"This is because of Trevor."_
> 
> Brows drawing together in confusion, Ryan slows to a halt. His brother doesn't even phrase the words as a question, but as a statement. It carries the weight of fact engraved in stone. And it's even heavier when Caleb's tone simmers with animosity, and mildly suppressed fury.
> 
> "What?" Ryan leans his weight against the windowsill. His free hand crosses over his softer abdomen, and tucks under his other arm. "Why would Trevor have anything to do with this?"
> 
> More laughter spills through the phone call. Caleb's on the verge of hysterics. _"Why?"_ The boy can hardly catch his breath from the scornful wheezing. Suddenly, the laughter stops. _"Ever since you started dating that_ over-controlling asshole, _you've been changing. Because_ he's demanding _you to change."_
> 
> His brother's blatantly hostile voice riles Ryan up. "He's not forcing me to do anything," Ryan fires back.
> 
> _"Alright, bro--"_ Caleb's mocking matter-of-fact tone grows vicious with each word. _"Manipulating you, coercing you, gaslighting you. Do you want me to read off the list of toxic, abusive fuckery that bastard's pulling? 'cause it's real goddamned long."_
> 
> "If you don't like him, fine." Ryan clenches his fist tightly. "But _don't_ paint him as a villain. He's my partner, and he loves me." 
> 
> _"He_ owns _you, Ryan. That's not love."_
> 
> The single hair strand around Ryan's index finger snaps. His chest heaves. It feels like Ryan's gone through a whole triathlon, and now he's gearing up to go for another round. Quieter, he confesses, "I thought you wanted me to be happy."
> 
> A heavy, ragged inhale cuts across the line. For a moment, Ryan wonders if his brother's been pulling at his hair in distress too. Does he have a dark strand or two caught between his fingers?
> 
> _"Ry."_ Cal's voice is softer. Almost a plea. _"Of course, I want you to be happy. But are you?"_ The question frays at the edges. _"Are you happy?"_
> 
> In the horizontal space between almost fully closed blinds, Ryan sees the city. Los Angeles is over-teeming with thousands of people. People walking or lingering on the cracked sidewalks. People trapped in cars during traffic's unrelenting maws. Or smashing the car horn if someone stalls at a yellow light, and doesn't take the left turn. Green left arrows in Southern California are rarer than snow in the summer. Everyone is always moving. Always going somewhere. Even the skies are busy with airplanes cutting trails across the smog. In this city, there are people everywhere.
> 
> Ryan feels alone.
> 
> And angry.
> 
> At himself.
> 
> That's when one of his worst flaws emerges from the cemetery. It's a strength during classroom debates and project critiques. But in personal relations, it's a weapon that carves organs out of his loved ones.
> 
> "You're gonna be homophobic like Mom and Dad too?"
> 
> As soon as that cruel question escapes, Ryan considers throwing himself out the window. Crash through the blinds. Break the glass. The commotion of falling to his death sounds kinder than his brother's scoff of broken laughter. It's a caricature of the carefree, light-hearted sound Ryan's grew up with. And it hurts more knowing that Ryan's at fault. Ryan hears flickers of a whisper, but it's too quiet. 
> 
> "Cal, what-"
> 
> **_"I FUCKING DEFENDED YOU!"_** Cal's shout spikes in decibels. The outraged volume clips out over the call. Anguish and betrayal burns raw in the boy's voice. _"I'm_ still _defending you! Every fucking day, Ryan! While_ you _went off to college,_ I _have to deal with Mom and Dad being passive-aggressively homophobic all the damned time. Every dinner, every car ride, every trip to the store, they ask, 'Is Ryan done with being gay?' Then I have to explain how being gay isn't a phase. Do you know how many fucking Human Sexuality 101 lessons I've given in the goddamned cereal aisle at Trader Joe's? Oh, and don't forget all of our relatives at every holiday or reunion or whatever the Hell else that you stopped coming to."_
> 
> The rant interrupts with a long overdue inhale. Ryan listens to his brother struggling to catch his breath. He can barely see anything when there are so many tears.
> 
> _"And every time, I tell myself, 'It's okay.'"_ By now, Caleb's voice drags hoarse. _"Because I'd rather be the one listening to the cruel, hurtful things they say._ _I can deal with that shit, so you don't have to. I want you to go after what you love, dude. Create what you want. Be who you want. And fuckin' Hell, man--"_
> 
> Cal laughs. It does nothing to cover up the sounds of fighting back a sob. _"If I could get out of this place, I'd do it in a heartbeat. Because I can't-"_ The boy suddenly cuts himself off.
> 
> An alarm goes off in Ryan. "Caleb--"
> 
> Sensing that his brother's about to ask a question he doesn't want to answer, Cal keeps talking. _"I don't hold anything against you for leaving this family. But-"_ His tone hardens at the edges. _"I'm_ not _fucking okay with you being in a fucked up relationship. You're my brother, and you deserve better."_
> 
> Ryan's first instinct is to counter-argue. But it's another reminder of his ugliness. How can his knee-jerk reaction be to retaliate? Against someone he loves? His own little brother?
> 
> He hears the deep, profound hurt in his brother's voice. With the way Cal's breath hitches like his own, Ryan knows they're both struggling to keep tears in. Ryan leans against the blinds. A car horn barks in the street. There are no birds in the sky. Fingers graze over his clavicle. The bones still aren't prominent enough. He needs to dig them out.
> 
> Above a whisper, Ryan says, "Cal, I'm so sorry."
> 
> _"Just show up."_
> 
> "I can't do that."
> 
> _"Fine."_
> 
> The finality of that word lacerates deep. And the knife hits bone when his brother hangs up.
> 
> * * *
> 
> The air vent's low rumbling reverberates in the bathroom. A hand swipes across the fogged glass. In silence, Ryan studies his reflection. Calloused fingers run over the hard planes of his arm. Trailing down over his abdomen. Digging into the shadows between muscles.
> 
> Over time, there will be less shadows from muscles, and more sharp edges from bones.
> 
> Is he good enough yet?
> 
> The basketball gathers dust in the corner of his bedroom. The novels stay untouched on the forlorn shelves.

"So, I--" Ryan keeps playing with the loose thread. He's already broken a few off the hem of his sweater. Now, he's tugging at loose threads from tears in his jeans. "I stopped working out. Stopped playing basketball. I was trying to lose all of-- this." He gestures at the current state of his body. Ryan's eyes linger for a moment on the defined muscles shaping his arm. "And I..." Subconsciously, Ryan runs a hand over his collarbone. "I didn't really eat. So, that I'd lose weight."

Ryan's broken the habit of obsessively reading nutrition labels, counting calories, creating a circle around his wrist with index finger and thumb touching, silently comparing the width of his thigh to Steven's, or his arm to Zach's, and so on. But sometimes, Ryan catches himself almost falling back into unwanted impulses.

It's not envy. Nothing malicious. But there's that old tug of yearning, coupled with underlying self-loathing. Ryan's long fallen out of love with Trevor. But he hasn't forgotten his ex's specifics for what he deems as the ideal male. When Ryan sees those traits in his friends, coworkers, and even his own boyfriend-- Ryan fights the urge to circle his wrist, and measure his worth by how much empty space there is.

"He was my first serious romantic relationship, and d/s partner. I-" Another thread breaks. Ryan adds the dark string to a growing pile on the coffee table, then leans back on the sofa. Roughly, a hand runs through his hair. There's a weariness to his voice that rarely surfaces in public. "I assumed Trevor knew everything. I mean-" He laughs in spite of himself. "Don't we believe in people we trust most?"

The tremor in Ryan's shoulder travels all the way to his hand. "In hindsight, I was just...really naive, I guess," Ryan admits quietly. "And-- desperate. I wanted to be good enough. I wanted to be loved." Searing shame pulses through his frame. Ryan's jaw tightens. "So, I changed myself. Until I didn't know who I was anymore. And at the time, I told myself, _'It's okay.'_ Kept lying to myself. Until I even forgot I was lying in the first place."

Silently, Shane takes this all in. From his peripheral, Shane sees Ryan's hand rest over his abdomen. Fingers curl inwards, and stab into the muscle hidden under fabric. A grimace heavy with exhaustion strickens Ryan's face. The fabric strains taunt in a clenched hand. 

Shane rests his hand over Ryan's. His fingers fall into the spaces in-between. As their fingers lace together, Ryan exhales. Shane waits until some of the tension in Ryan's frame melts away, and his hand relaxes.

"You weren't naive, Ryan. Or desperate." Shane keeps his gaze on his partner. Even when Ryan would rather count how many threads are on the table. "You trusted someone, and they took advantage of you. That's not your fault."

Ryan hears echoes of his own words. Back when he gave them to Shane, the two of them on the bathroom floor. It feels entirely different to be on the receiving end. More dissonance. Chords that are played right, but still somehow out-of-tune.

Like the Witch's Cap of the Winchester House, there's a conical attic in Ryan's mind. When his feet are nailed to the ground, Ryan can only stand in the center, and be surrounded by reverberations of a harsh inner voice. Self-critical. Self-loathing. It may take on the voice of past partners, estranged family members, or other ghosts. But often-- it's his own voice.

Genuine kindness sounds like an unknown language. Slowly, Ryan's learning to listen to it. He doesn't want to spend the rest of his life in this cold attic.

"I hear what you're saying. I just..." Ryan rests his head on Shane's shoulder. "I have a hard time believing in it. For now." 

Shane shifts a little, so Ryan can lean comfortably against him. "What would you say if someone else went through what you did?"

"I'd say that there's a difference between being _dominant_ versus being _domineering._ " Despite feeling drained, Ryan still gestures with his hand to emphasize points. "Nobody else, but that individual can identify as a d/s role. Same goes for sexual positions."

"Yeah, exactly." Shane nods in agreement. "Like it's never my place to say someone else should be this or that. It's why I don't just look at a random guy, and say--" Shane mimes as if he's looking through binoculars, and adjusting the focus. _"That one over there looks like a sub! Gosh darn, 100% a bottom too! Nobody versatile around here."_ The invisible binoculars turn elsewhere. Cue mechanical sound effects. Shane dramatically points in that direction. _"And aye-- looks like we've got a top over there!"_

Laughing, Ryan lightly slaps Shane's knee. "Jesus fuckin' Christ, Shane-" He's wheezing so hard that it almost hurts. The bit's so ridiculous. But not that far-fetched from reality. Ryan wipes at damp eyes with the heel of his hand. 

Shane's quietly thrilled with how he's made Ryan laugh. It's why he does a lot of absurd things on Unsolved-- giving Ryan moments of levity, so fear doesn't grow overpowering.

After wrapping an arm around Ryan's shoulder, Shane looks down at their hands. "I understand it can be hard to stand your ground during those kinds of situations. Especially when the other person is someone you care about." After a contemplative pause, Shane comments, "And it sounds like he was leveraging experience over you. Personally, I don't agree with that. Same goes for age. Just because someone might have more experience in an area, or be older doesn't mean their partner's wants and needs are less important."

Ryan gently bites on the inside of his cheek. "Even when I was new to d/s?"

"You could be new to d/s, or be doing it for decades. _Everyone's_ wants and needs matter."

Ryan holds Shane's hand. He knows his boyfriend speaks from personal experience. It's a little easier to breathe after that cathartic laugh, and Shane sharing his perspective. Words begin to flow out of Ryan without overthinking. Shane's already seen him as a mess, so Ryan's just going to roll with the punches.

"I didn't want to lose our relationship, so I just...lost myself. And that's not-" Ryan sits up straight, and shakes his head. "That's not healthy at all. That's not what I want." After a silent moment, Ryan suddenly laughs. He closes his eyes. A hand hovers inches above his chest. "You know what I felt when I broke up with him?"

"What?"

 _"Free."_ The tension in Ryan's hand eases away. It rests comfortably over his chest, then slides down to his abdomen. "Over time, I started working out again. For myself. Not for anyone else. I wanted to make my body my own again."

Shane recalls how Ryan looked when they first met. It's not Ryan being slighter in frame that stands out in Shane's memory. But the dark circles under his eyes. The spontaneous tension in his body language. The strive to take up least space as possible.

"You always belong to yourself first, Ry. Even between us." Shane kisses his partner's shoulder. "Also you're fucking badass at basketball."

Grinning, Ryan glances up. "Remember that haunted school with the basketball court? And you asked me to play?" He makes an effort to not laugh. But Ryan fails miserably as a wheeze or two shakes his body. "You're tall enough that you could literally just stand by the hoop, and nudge the ball in. But you-- you were-- you were _so bad-_ " Ryan's laughing too hard to even be coherent anymore.

"I'm gonna remember this next time we play table tennis," Shane states dryly with a deadpan. "You're supposed to hit _over_ the net." He gestures with his arm. "Not _into_ it."

Playfully shoving Shane only makes the man laugh. Ryan's fingers stay curled in Shane's shirt. For a moment, Ryan just watches him. It's been a while, since Ryan's seen Shane genuinely delighted. Ryan leans in to kiss his cheek. Silent joy takes the place of laughter as Shane brings their lips together. 

When the kiss ends, Ryan remains close. "That day was the first time I played in years. I felt like I got a part of myself back."

"For the first time in that long, huh? Damn, Bergara. You weren't too bad." Shane smiles when Ryan gives him a wry grin. His hands run over his boyfriend's arms, feeling the strong muscle tone. "Sorry for not being eloquent about this, but--" Shane clears his throat, then bluntly states, "You're fucking hot."

Ryan bursts out into laughter. _"Dude."_

"So hot that we could melt a block over butter over your abs for popcorn-" Shane gets a sofa cushion thrown in his face

"Are you trying to compliment me or roast me?" Ryan takes the cushion back. He may need to launch it again if Shane keeps flustering him.

"Both?" Shane offers with a grin. His eyes soften. "I'm happy when you feel good and healthy in your own body. That's what matters."

Fingers sink deeper into the cushion's soft material. "Thanks, Shane." Ryan settles back into his partner's arms. Quiet ripples between them. Until Ryan breaks it with a confession. "I think what was hardest about that whole experience is that I burned bridges with Cal." With a fragile laugh, Ryan shakes his head. "I thought I fucking knew everything, because I was finally in college. But a high schooler saw what I couldn't."

Shane strokes gentle lines down Ryan's shoulder and upper arm. "What did he see?"

"That I was in abusive relationship." Ryan's tired of crying. Real fucking tired of it, actually. But as he looks towards the windows, more tears brim his eyes. "I didn't even realize that until recently. Like-- when I started going into therapy, it was for my anxiety. But it just exploded into a lot else."

Blinking away tears, Ryan leans his head back until it rests on the sofa's upper edge. One hand covers over his eyes. Ryan's other hand opens palm upwards. Shane grasps his hand, and gives it a gentle squeeze. A sob half-heartedly beats in Ryan's torso like a weary bird. 

"Cal wasn't wrong. What he said to me on that call."

Ryan draws in a breath that's too loud even for his own ears. No one's eager about revealing their uglier sides to the people they love. Especially their significant other. Ryan's no different.

"It was such Hell after I came out to my parents." Ryan wants to close his eyes. But the man dreads seeing any fragments of memories. Ryan doesn't think he can look at Shane, and watch possible disappointment emerge. So, Ryan keeps his hand over his eyes, and studies the ceiling between the gaps of his fingers. "I stopped going home. I just-...I couldn't deal with anymore of it."

In the morning, pale gold washes over the ceiling. But during this hour of the day, the ceiling is a murky grey with warm tones. Like the interior of his father's car. Their talks about basketball lose all passion. Just a couple of ventriloquist dummies going through the motions. While in the front passenger seat, Ryan catches glimpses of Caleb in the side mirror. Always with earbuds in. The scratched iPod shuffle doesn't play music every time. Ryan didn't only pass down the old music device. He gave his brother the trick of wearing earbuds with no songs playing, so people don't try to spark conversation with you. Or maybe Caleb learned that on his own.

If only it could be tense car rides. A group of people upholding the facade of a happy family. Maybe Ryan would've gone back home more.

But the fights. The yelling. The cruel words. A father's fist slamming the table. A mother no longer able to hug her eldest son. A little brother wearing silent earbuds, and long sleeves everyday.

Ryan wants to keep seeing the beige ceiling. But memory is not kind. It doesn't give a damn about what you want or don't want.

Memory reminds Ryan about the color red.

"Even after my brother was the only one to support and defend me, I..." Ryan's voice trails off with newly rising tears. Abstract shadows on the ceiling blur. "I left him." Finally, a sob breaks. "I left my brother when he needed me."

It's no longer the ceiling Ryan sees between his fingers. But the world tilting on its axis when he receives an emergency call after college finals. Then Cal's bandaged arms. Then the scars he wears openly. Less out of boldness. More out of no longer giving a fuck. Today, Ryan's heart seizes whenever he catches hints of self-inflicted scars on loved ones-- like Shane and Steven. He's witnessed the aftermath of what happens when wounds run too deep.

 _"I love him so much."_ Heartbreak strains each whispered word. Ryan's hand falls. "But I don't know how to- how to make things right. Or even _talk_ with him anymore." His quiet laughter wavers. "I've spent years hunting after ghosts and demons. Always trying to figure out unsolved cases. But I can't figure out how to fucking fix things with my brother."

Shane's fingers run through Ryan's hair. There's a lot not being said. But Shane sees parts of the story slowly emerging like a developing photograph. "I don't think there's one clear answer for mending bridges with family." Even Shane has things to resolve with his own brother. Maybe. Someday. "But making the first call can go a long way."

Hesitating, Ryan looks over at Shane. "You think he'll answer?"

"Only one way to know, right?" Shane brushes dark strands out of those tired eyes.

"Yeah." Ryan inhales deeply. He nods to himself. "Yeah, you're right. It's about time I reach out." While drying his damp eyes, Ryan's gaze falls on his wrist. "You wanna hear more?"

"Only if you want to share."

A pond of anxiety swells inside. It'll only takes moments until it's a vast ocean. But Ryan will keep going. No more poorly done sutures. No more staying in the attic while Shane's waiting at the door.

"After the breakup, I thought it would get better. And for a while, it seemed that way. Started seeing new people. Found a new partner. But--"

Ryan closes his hand.

Tension reignites.

> Pain flares.
> 
> White, hot lightning lashes across his body. Ryan tries to choke back a sound. Just as he's been doing past several times. Everything feels raw. Savage wildfire burns all over. As muscles tense, Ryan's wrists scream excruciatingly. Physical agony spikes the anxiety raging in his chest. He tries to endure it. Tries to breathe through it. Tries to leave his body. But at the violent crack of another lightning strike, Ryan's voice finally breaks with a fractured sob--
> 
> And his safeword.
> 
> "Damnit, Ryan." In exasperation, Wade sighs harshly. "We barely got started, and you're already safewording?"
> 
> Ryan's heavy breathing grates like white static in his ears. Along with a monotonous, high-pitched ringing. Ryan doesn't know where the strident screech comes from. But it won't leave. His chest rises and falls at an erratic pace. The young man's on the brink of hyperventilating. "I don't-- I'm sorry. It just-" Ryan's voice grows smaller by the second. "It doesn't feel good."
> 
> "When _you're submitting,_ it's not about how _you_ feel. It's about what _I_ want." In brisk motions, Wade undoes the rope restraints. Raw ligature abrasions on Ryan's wrists and ankles exacerbate from the rough movements. "What submissive can't handle pain? What's the reason for it?"
> 
> "I--" Ryan falters. He's unsure of how to explain that he's just not into the kink. "I don't know...?"
> 
> Exhaling quietly, Wade sits down on the edge of the bed. Ryan stays lying on his front with his face buried in the crook of his arm. Physical pain is not all that weighs him down. There's the mutating mess of anxiety, apprehension, guilt and shame. Cautiously, Ryan glances at his partner. The man sitting with his back to Ryan stings more than hard hits from earlier. Ryan's being buried alive in a blizzard, and drowning in molten lava. But he doesn't ask for comforting touches or words.
> 
> He hasn't earned kindness.
> 
> After a tense, silent moment, Wade says, "I don't know if this is going to work." The man heaves another sigh. He rubs at his face tiredly. "Maybe we're not a good fit for each other-"
> 
> "I can take it." Hastily, Ryan sits up, and shoves the rough rope into Wade's hand. "I'll be stronger. I can take it, I swear. Actually, I-" Ryan looks over at the lowest drawer. His insides twist and churn. Nausea lurks around the corner. After a deep breath, Ryan looks back at his partner. "I'll do that-- that thing you wanted to try out."
> 
> Wade stares. It's a measuring gaze. Sizing Ryan up. Calculating his worth. Weighing his pros and cons.
> 
> "Are you sure?"
> 
> Fishing hooks puncture through Ryan's flesh again. Or maybe they never left his body in the first place. But Ryan still nods.
> 
> It's okay.
> 
> He can do this. He can be strong. He can be wanted. He can be perfect. He can be loved.
> 
> "Don't go. Stay. Please?"
> 
> A hand guides Ryan to lay down. "No reason for me to go when you're being this good, sweetheart."
> 
> As Ryan's finally rewarded with a kiss, the tremors in his chest quiet down. The abrasions burn fiercer. More lightning strikes. More wildfires. Everything hurts. Nothing feels good. His safeword's on the tip of his tongue.
> 
> But Ryan keeps it locked behind teeth.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Ryan's not sure exactly when he subdrops. But once few shards of clarity return, Ryan finds himself lying in the bathtub, under the rainfall of cold shower water. Ryan doesn't know if Wade brought him here, or if Ryan made it to the bathroom on his own. It's silent other than the running water, rumbling air vents, and his strained breathing. He's alone.
> 
> "It's okay." There's more air than sound in the whispered mantra. "It's okay." The side of his face rests in a shallow pool of water.
> 
> He tries to focus on the white tiles.
> 
> And not the faint red tinting the water.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Days pass in a surreal haze.
> 
> Nobody suspects anything different. He's learned how to play the role of Ryan Bergara during past relationships. It's the only role he can act for, and the one he does best.
> 
> In the back of his clouded mind, Ryan knows he's still caught in subdrop. He's here, but not here. Feeling nothing and everything. Trapped in a maze of mirrors that reflects all of his flaws from every angle. Even the ugliness under the surface. It's a blessing if the experience passes quickly. But nowadays, there's no end to the void.
> 
> Automated movements lead him to the front door, turn the lock, set the keys aside, pull off his jacket-- 
> 
> Ryan pauses at the sound of a voice.
> 
> It's definitely not Wade's.
> 
> With half of the jacket still hanging off his frame, Ryan looks towards the hall. Something cold and heavy weighs in his stomach. Slowly, Ryan walks down the corridor. He's grown up with curiosity that knows no bounds. Always so eager to discover the truth.
> 
> They say curiosity killed the cat. But Ryan's died more than nine times when men can't sculpt him into what they want. Their molds are so beautiful, so perfect. Ryan never fits into the designs. He knows the lines on his palms. But lately, he doesn't recognize the shape of his eyes. Even _'Ryan Bergara'_ sounds like the vague melody of a song he's forgotten the title of.
> 
> He stands before the closed bedroom door. Terror grips Ryan by the throat. He swallows rusted nails with each inhale. Washing it down with a spoonful of acid. Just as his hand reaches for the handle, Ryan hears what's unmistakably a moan. Unshed tears singe the edges of his eyes. He can turn around. Leave Pandora's Box sealed shut. Run away. Disappear.
> 
> Ryan opens the door.
> 
> Wade wears a genuine smile Ryan hasn't seen in a long time. There's real warmth in his voice.
> 
> That proud smile. Those kind words.
> 
> None of them are for Ryan. But for someone else. Laying where Ryan has laid.
> 
> Has his partner been so miserable with him all this time?
> 
> Was Ryan's love not enough?
> 
> Was Ryan's body not enough?
> 
> Was _Ryan_ not enough?
> 
> Ryan's attention settles on the other man his partner is with. The better man.
> 
> He's everything Ryan isn't:
> 
> Beautiful.
> 
> Strong.
> 
> Perfect.

"My ex wanted me to join in." Ryan cradles the newly brewed cup of coffee in his hands. "But I didn't feel comfortable. Once I'm in a committed relationship with someone, I'm exclusive. And that's what we originally agreed to, but..." His shoulders attempt a half-hearted shrug. "Yeah."

With his elbow on a knee, Shane's hand covers a part of his face. Steam wafts from his mug set on the table. The man draws in a slow, deep breath. With each passing second, it sounds more serrated at the edges.

"...Damn." Shaking his head, Shane stares at the coffee table. "That's not how a dom should behave. And even if d/s wasn't involved--" Shane lowers his hand. With cold steel in his voice, Shane states, "Fuck cheating."

"He didn't consider it cheating." Ryan studies the traces of honey brown on the rim of his coffee mug. On the bottom of the midnight indigo cup are stars painted in gold. Ryan found this mug when he began visiting bookstores again. But sometimes, there's the fear that when he empties his drink, there won't be any stars. "It was meant to be a lesson. And a second chance."

"For what?"

"To be better. To be the partner he wanted. Needed." Right now, Ryan's voice lacks life. There's more emotional inflection when Ryan narrates for Unsolved cases than sharing about his own history. After a shaky exhale, Ryan says, "It's too quiet." The city is raucous as ever with spontaneous car horns, people shouting, and other commotion. But it all sounds too empty. "Is it okay if I put on some background noise?"

"Yeah, of course, dude."

Ryan places his phone on the table. While he taps on the screen to play something random, Shane stares at the man's wrist.

"Were the ropes rough?"

The question catches Ryan off guard. Before Ryan can even formulate a response, brown eyes settle on his wrists. Subtle discomfort flickers across the man's face. The injuries never scarred. But he hasn't forgotten the abrasions and ligature marks.

"Yes." Spectral burns flicker across Ryan's body. "Very rough."

Gently, Shane caresses the underside of a wrist. "You prefer silk."

Ryan nods. "I do. But Wade thought it was too soft, and too--" Ryan tugs idly at the end of his shirt. "The aesthetic didn't fit me. Didn't fit my body. For Trevor, I wasn't masculine enough. For Wade, I was too masculine. Which was why he wasn't into me wearing lingerie. Or anything else like that."

"Someone can wear whatever they want. They don't have to be a certain body type." Shane brushes his thumb over Ryan's cheek. "And Ry-- you look damned gorgeous in anything."

Ducking his head, Ryan mutters, "You spoil me." The thought of Shane's gifts during their relationship still makes Ryan's chest ache.

"More like _you_ spoil _me._ " Shane's hand runs down the man's side. With his thumb, Shane draws slow circles on the hip bone. "You look so beautiful. And it's something only I get to see. So, yeah--" Shane grins. "I'm pretty fucking spoiled."

It's impossible to fight the rising smile. Ryan leans against Shane comfortably. "I'm glad we both like what we do."

"That's what our d/s is meant to be." Shane brushes his lips against Ryan's temple. "It's not an one-way street."

"So, it doesn't bother you that I'm not into certain things?"

"Never," Shane answers with ease. "Lots of people aren't into specific kinks. That's why limits and boundaries exist. And I understand there's this misconception that you're a "bad", "weak", or "fake" sub if you don't participate in certain kinks. Or going along with everything." Shane pushes his bangs back. As his hand draws away, light umber waves cascade over his forehead. "Sometimes, I get insecure about things too."

Ryan threads his fingers through Shane's hair. It's gotten even longer these days. Ryan absolutely adores it. And from the way his boyfriend leans into Ryan's touch, it seems like Shane enjoys it too. "What are you insecure about?"

Shane laughs breathlessly. "Ryan, we're talking about you."

"But we're a team." Ryan tucks a few longer strands behind Shane's ear. "I want to know what's been on your mind."

There's a dozen ways Shane can evade giving an honest answer. Despite the coils of anxiety, Shane refuses to do that. He respects Ryan too much to not give back as much vulnerability.

"I'm not into certain things either," Shane begins explaining. "Like pain. Things above scratching and light bruising. Of course, there's nothing wrong with being _into_ pain. Or any other kink. But there's also nothing wrong with _not_ being into something. For me, pain reminds me of..." Shane rolls up his sleeve. "This."

Even before the fabric draws up, Ryan knows what's on Shane's arm. Most anyone who spends enough time around Shane has seen glimpses of subtle scars. When Shane gets tanner during summer, the white ghost lines grow more prominent. Jagged marks with scattered crescent moons. Ryan already saw fleeting moments of these scars before they began dating. But it's not until a while into the relationship that Ryan learned about their origins.

"I don't want trauma to follow us into the bedroom. But I know it doesn't always work out that way." Nearly all of Shane's smile fades away. "Sometimes, I wonder if I'm not good enough of a partner as I can be-- because of what I've been through."

Ryan touches Shane's arm. He traces over the marks. Fingertips press lightly over the silver crescent moons. "You're more than enough. Just as you are. I love having you as my partner." His hand slides down to Shane's wrist, then falls into his palm. "And Shane-- I'd never want you to feel pressured to do something you're uncomfortable with. Or don't like."

"I know." While kissing Ryan's temple, Shane shifts his hand. "Same goes for you."

Ryan closes his eyes. He feels Shane draw slow circles on the wrist. Over the veins. Over invisible wounds. In a whisper, Ryan dares to ask, "Am I weak, because of my limits?"

"Never. Limits keep you safe," Shane answers with his whole heart in every word. "And hard limits are non-negotiable. It's a red flag when someone sees hard limits as challenges to overcome." Shane kisses Ryan's knuckles. "Trust me when I say that you're not weak. Or bad. Or not enough. There's nothing wrong with who you are, what you're into, and what you're not into."

While Shane admires his hand, Ryan keeps his eyes on the man. "I-- Well, I just like-..." When the dam breaks, and vulnerability floods out, he struggles to talk. Ryan heaves a breath. "You know what I like."

"Being taken care of and praised and doted on?" Shane smiles when he sees Ryan nod. "Perfect." A long-awaited wave of adoration breaks free. It takes the form of light kisses spreading wherever Shane can reach. Leaning in closer, a smile brushes across Ryan's cheek. "Because I fucking love doing that for you."

The living room fills with Ryan's laughter and wheezes. Shane wants to hear more of that joy. Soft touches spread like dappled sunlight on forest grounds. Relentless affection melts Ryan into an emotional mess. Shane's hand slides under his shirt. Not to initiate anything sexual at the moment. But to feel each other closely. For a few moments, they share easy, gentle silence.

Until Ryan works up a little more courage to unearth a final corpse.

"After all that-- I thought maybe I wasn't good enough for d/s." Ryan feels Shane tense up in concern. He smooths the wrinkles out of Shane's shirt. A silent gesture to help the man relax. "So, I tried for a completely vanilla relationship. And we got far. But when I shared some of my past experiences, it just--" A deep inhale. A broken exhale. "I learned other ways of not being enough."

Ryan closes his eyes. It doesn't stop the burning on his left hand.

Opening his eyes, Ryan says, "This is before we were working on the same team. But y'know sometimes we'd have to cram late hours for a project?" From the corner of his eye, Ryan sees Shane nod. "Well, I started doing that a lot more. And sometimes, I'd come home, and he'd ask--" 

> "Why are you back so late?"
> 
> The question's fired before Ryan barely gets through the front door. While turning the locks, and setting the key aside, Ryan sifts through his memory. Did they have something planned for tonight? No, that can't be it. Ryan always marks things down in the Calendar app. Is it Gavin's birthday? No, that was a month ago. Is it their anniversary? No way. That's not until two weeks later.
> 
> "Ryan." Gavin stares at the laptop screen. The rapid typing accents irregularly. No mercy for the space bar tonight. "I asked you a question."
> 
> "Work. I'm late, because of work." Ryan sets his backpack down. He crouches down on a knee to start unlacing his boot. "Deadlines shifted around. Some of us needed to put some extra time into our projects. Then we got dinner and some drinks together-"
> 
> "You _drank_ with them?"
> 
> The shoelaces slip from Ryan's fingers. He stares at the lines dividing the wooden floorboards. "It was just _one_ drink."
> 
> "You said you wouldn't drink _without_ me. _Christ, Ryan._ " Gavin runs a hand through his dark blonde hair. "We live in _LA._ It's the empire of people's lives being ruined by nonconsensual activity."
> 
> "Babe." Ryan stands up. "I was with my _co-workers._ " He walks into the kitchen for some water. Tips of the undone shoelaces tap against tiles. As Ryan replays his partner's words, his face twists in disbelief at what's being implied. A faint wave of nausea stirs the alcohol inside. "None of them are going to-- to _do_ anything to me."
> 
> Gavin opens his mouth, but quickly clamps it shut.
> 
> The glass of water may crack in Ryan's hand any moment.
> 
> While flipping through pages of a script, Gavin says, "You should've just come home."
> 
> "Didn't you get my text?" When Ryan realized he'd have to stay later than usual, he texted his boyfriend. Biting on his lower lip, Ryan checks his phone. "Maybe it didn't send..."
> 
> "I got it." The statement's emphasized with a sharp snap of the space bar. Gavin adjusts his glasses. "Didn't want to be a bother by texting back while you're working on Powerpoint slides."
> 
> Ryan draws in a measured breath. It hits differently than when Steven jokingly describes Unsolved in such a way. Ryan knows the bantering's well-deserved, since he roasts Steven daily. And it's always in good humor. But in Gavin's voice, Ryan hears the notes of hardly suppressed frustration. And if he listens closer, Ryan picks up on disappointment. Perhaps even growing resentment.
> 
> A stray droplet of water trickles down the glass' exterior. Ryan wipes it away. "Unsolved isn't Powerpoint slides."
> 
> "How long are you going to keep doing this YouTube thing?"
> 
> Whatever faint buzz Ryan had going on vanishes instantly. He sobers up damned quick when anxiety takes a battering ram to his chest. Roughly, Ryan runs a hand through his hair to undo the styled locks. As he pulls his hand away, a dark strand catches between his fingers. "What do you mean by that?"
> 
> "What I mean--" Gavin pauses. The man readjusts his tone, so it doesn't come off as abrasive. He redirects towards being diplomatic. "What I mean is that you worked incredibly hard through college to earn a very difficult degree. Your aspirations are to film documentaries and investigative works. Informative journalism that's impactful. Resonating. Thought-provoking."
> 
> Ryan starts unzipping his hooded jacket. Even when the outdoor chill from dropped temperatures reaches inside, it's too warm here. "Yeah--" He scowls at how the zipper's stuck. "-that's what I'm doing. And what I'm working towards."
> 
> Gavin laughs. A single terse sound. He leans back in his chair. "Babe, you're cobbling together mediocre content to throw on _YouTube._ Breadcrumbs to the masses for superficial entertainment."
> 
> The zipper almost breaks off rows of metal teeth. Ryan stares at his boyfriend. _"Breadcrumbs to the masses?"_ he echoes in a stunned whisper. It crescendoes with each following word. "You're going to talk about _our audience_ like that? These amazing fans who are genuinely curious and excited about the unknown?"
> 
> "Oh, for fuck's sake." Gavin closes the laptop, and stands up. Chair legs scrape stridently against the floor. With one hand on the table, his other hand gestures. "Out of everything I said-- _that's_ what you hear? Ryan, _you grew up here._ " A finger jabs towards the ground. "Even people who move to LA from other states, other countries know what the industry's like. YouTube is _fucking nothing_ compared to creating content for the bigger screens. It's _nowhere_ near the same playing field. _You're not creating_ _real work!_ "
> 
> Recoiling, Ryan's elbow almost knocks the glass off the kitchen counter. He stands frozen. After a moment and a half, Ryan breaks out of the paralysis. Carefully, he sets the glass away from the edge. Ryan refuses to acknowledge the faint tremor in his hand.
> 
> Ryan can withstand and even welcomes constructive criticism. But Ryan's been through enough of film school and pitch meetings to know the difference between constructive criticism versus personal attacks. He's forged some thick skin when it comes to defending his creative work.
> 
> But this is a different battlefield. A far crueler one. Standing on the opposite side is the man he loves.
> 
> Ryan's hand falls from the trapped zipper. "You don't believe in me."
> 
> The hard lines of Gavin's face softens. So does the severe tone of his voice. "Darling, no." He steps closer to Ryan, and gently grasps his shoulders. "Of course, I believe in you."
> 
> As that familiar hand brushes his bangs back, Ryan looks up. One of the kitchen lights burns dimly. It's been on the brink of going out. Neither of them have bought a new lightbulb, so they just live with it.
> 
> But even under this muted amber glow, Gavin looks beautiful as ever. Almost ethereal. In contrast to Ryan's mad chaos of caught jacket zippers, hair never quite in place, and one shoe with laces undone-- Gavin is art. Tall with graceful, elegant lines. There's a secret in those blue eyes that Ryan always wants to learn more about. From his gold wire frame glasses to his writing playlist, everything in Gavin's life is meticulously curated.
> 
> Even his Instagram is curated like walls of a gallery. All blank, white images uploaded in-between a tastefully cropped photos. A still from a film. Abstract colors of the sky. And often Ryan's silhouette that make him look beautiful too. Gavin's posts rarely have any captions. But always for Ryan, there's _". . ."_ written under the photographs. It's a secret only they know.
> 
> "I believed in you, since that first night we met." Gavin rests his hand on the side of Ryan's face. "I fell in love with the way you see the world. And what storytelling with a camera means to you. The way you talked about your creative aspirations. Everything you're so passionate and ambitious about. Your dreams make you beautiful, Ryan. How could I not believe in you? Or fall for you?"
> 
> Ryan can almost hear the cacophony of that wild party. The clinking of bottles as they sat close on the outdoor porch. Gavin's words being a song he wants to listen to on repeat. His own voice bursting with life again after so long. Gavin's hand drawing near his knee, a finger tapping three times. Their laughter mixing together like perfect, vivid colors on hand-made marbled paper. 
> 
> "But darling, you're breaking my heart." Nostalgia in the timbres of Gavin's voice fade. Harsh reality hardens the words. "It breaks my heart when you're wasting your potential and time with 'work' that's child's play. You're only good as the people you play with. And right now--" Gavin levels his partner with a steady stare. "You're surrounded by mediocrity. All I want is to help you be at your best."
> 
> Ryan almost begins leaning into Gavin's touch. It would be so easy to just give in. Nod. Say everything people want to hear. Paint on a smile. Play his given role.
> 
> But fuck the script.
> 
> "You're wrong." Even with anxiety hammering a thunderstorm inside, Ryan looks Gavin in the eye. "There's _nothing_ mediocre about the people I'm with. Not only are they creatively talented and skilled as Hell. But they have good values and morals. Their hearts are in the right place."
> 
> Conflicted emotions brew in Gavin's eyes. What shines through the most is sadness. "I see a lot of myself in you," he muses, almost to himself. "And I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did."
> 
> "They won't hurt me." There's a near pleading note to Ryan's voice. "They're good people, Gavin."
> 
> The quiet, tired melancholy in Gavin's eyes swiftly recedes. Anger takes the frontlines. "And how far do you think that naivety's going to get you?" His grip on Ryan's arm tightens. Ominous darkness clouds over the man's face. "You're _fucking_ them."
> 
> The accusation jolts like an invisible backhand. Startled, Ryan's gaze widens. _"Excuse me?"_ His voice pitches higher at the end.
> 
> Gavin releases his hold on Ryan, and steps towards the edge of the kitchen. The man braces his weight against the wall. Suddenly, there's a vast divide of space between them. But this home still feels claustrophobic. The way Gavin looks at Ryan with haunted eyes makes Ryan feel like an imposter. In his own home. In his own relationship. In his own body.
> 
> "Just be honest with me, Ry." Gavin's voice almost collapses under the weight of vulnerability. But that doesn't compare with the immense weight of heartbreak. "Are you cheating on me?"
> 
> "No. Never," Ryan answers without even a second of stalling. There's no hesitation when he has nothing, but the truth. "Jesus Christ, Gavin! _How can you even ask me that?!_ "
> 
> "Do _not_ raise your voice." With a pained intake of air, Gavin opens and closes his hand. As if Ryan's tone ruptures his ear drums. "Babe, please. Don't shout. Why are you shouting?"
> 
> Ryan's mouth is open, but his voice falls silent. Quieter, he says, "I'm sorry."
> 
> "You've slept with people before us, right?" Gavin waves behind him. "When you were doing d/s."
> 
> Ryan swallows hard. Even though he doesn't participate in d/s anymore, he's talked about it with his partner. Back then, Gavin seemed open-minded to hearing details about the d/s lifestyle and community. Now, Ryan wonders if he just willingly gave the man a loaded artillery.
> 
> "Yes, I've slept with people _before_ us. And _if_ I ever slept with any of my coworkers--" Ryan gestures with a hand along an imaginary timeline. "-it would've been _before_ we started dating."
> 
> Gavin doesn't just stare at Ryan as if he's an imposter. But something frightening. "And you think there isn't a problem with that?"
> 
> More bewilderment flickers across Ryan's face. "I-- _what?_ " The very nature of Gavin's questions throw him off. "No. Why would it be a problem?"
> 
> The way Gavin massages his temples hints at an approaching headache. "What if _I_ slept with _my_ coworkers?"
> 
> " _Before_ we started dating?"
> 
> "Yes."
> 
> Shrugging, Ryan tries unzipping his jacket again. "That's fine." He exhales when the damned thing finally opens, and he can start pulling the jacket off. "It wouldn't matter to me-"
> 
> _"How can it not matter to you?!"_ Gavin slices the air with his hand. Then he beats at the center of his chest. "Do _I_ not matter to you?!"
> 
> " _Of course,_ you matter to me. Gavin, babe-- _I love you._ " Ryan dares to take a step closer. "But I'm not going to hold your past against you. Especially when you haven't done anything wrong. I trust that you wouldn't have feelings for whoever you slept with _in the past_ while we're together _now._ "
> 
> Ryan's left breathless from the sudden tirade. Gavin won't even look at him. Stormy blue eyes glare at an invisible spot on the opposite wall. This is vaguely reminiscent of growing up with family members that speak in different languages. The building frustration. The staggered breathing. The ambiguous hand gestures. Except Ryan and Gavin are both talking in English, so Ryan doesn't understand why things get lost in translation. He scrambles to find other ways to phrase his words, to simplify, to clarify.
> 
> Ryan doesn't know what to do with his hands. They grasp at empty air. "Just because I slept with other guys _before_ us doesn't mean I don't love you."
> 
> "How many?"
> 
> "What?"
> 
> Finally, Gavin turns his eyes to Ryan. "How many guys have you fucked?"
> 
> "I...I- uhm..." Ryan tries to count the number of men on his fingers. But he doesn't get far when Gavin barks out a disbelieving laugh. 
> 
> "Fucking knew it. I knew this-- you, me, _us-_ " Gavin gestures between them. He steps away from Ryan to circle around the table. "We're too good to be true." After staring at the documents on the table, Gavin lifts his gaze to Ryan. "You're a slut. And sluts always cheat."
> 
> _'Slut.'_
> 
> Suddenly, Ryan's hurled back to college days. Back when rumors circled around after his breakups. Or when things go wrong at social gatherings. Hang outs. Parties. People don't bother with investing the time and effort to verify if there's truth in a rumor. Certainly not in college. Gavin was one of the only people who believed in Ryan. He should know better than most how that word cuts deep.
> 
> Ryan can't breathe. But he still tries to reach for his voice. "I would never cheat on anyone."
> 
> With some wounds, it doesn't matter how much time passes. Ryan will never forget what it was like to be cheated on. The stranger's voice in his old home. The genuine warmth and joy on the face of an old lover. A man who fell out of love with Ryan before Ryan even got close to falling out of love with him. Ryan's tired of being possessed by these memories.
> 
> "I would never cheat on you, Gavin."
> 
> "Fine, let's give you the benefit of the doubt right now." Gavin's hands rest on the table's surface. The space may as well be an interrogation room. "But someday, you're going to cheat. When you've gone around sucking so many cocks, it's just a matter of time until mine isn't enough, right? Is _that_ why your libido's so high?"
> 
> Ryan flinches. This kind of ugliness sounds wrong coming from his partner. But what hurts more is Gavin firing verbal gunshots at their sex life. "I just-" Burning humiliation and shame sweep across Ryan. "I thought you're okay with me wanting you a lot-" 
> 
> "I was." Gavin sets his glasses on the table. Lights reflect off the thin golden frame. "Until I knew that you're a slut."
> 
> _"Gavin, please-"_ Ryan struggles to take in air. Tonight, oxygen isn't kind. " _Don't_ call me that."
> 
> "You're right, I'm sorry." Gavin exhales. He glances at his phone set by the laptop. "Is this why you won't Block the people I told you to Block on social media?"
> 
> Ryan stares. It's near impossible to keep up with this conversation. They're careening in a different trajectory every millisecond. "What does that have to do with any of this? And no, I'm not Blocking my friends and coworkers."
> 
> "Because A) you've _fucked_ them or B) you're _going to_ fuck them," Gavin hisses as he approaches Ryan. One finger, then a second finger raises to emphasize his points. As the man stops to a halt, his hand falls. "I always told you that you're too friendly with everyone."
> 
> Ryan crosses his arms across his chest. He doesn't know if it's to hold himself, or to keep his hands from pulling at his hair. "I'm not going to be a dick to people for no reason."
> 
> "I'm not asking you to be a dick. I'm asking you to stop being _so close_ to your coworkers--" Gavin stops as a thought strikes him. The raising voice abruptly falls. "Is _this_ why you're staying at this YouTube company? Because of _the people_ there?"
> 
> Ryan almost says, _'That's part of it.'_ He's found friends who are starting to feel like family. After being so estranged from his biological family for years, Ryan takes comfort in that. But from Gavin's incredulous tone, Ryan knows his partner isn't asking in a platonic sense.
> 
> "I have not and will not cheat on you," Ryan states firmly. After a shaky breath, he adds tiredly, "But Gavin-- I need you to let me _breathe_ a little."
> 
> "And by breathing you mean flirting." 
> 
> Ryan opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. He's too stunned and hurt to even scrape together a few words. Neither of them look at each other as they stand in silence.
> 
> Ryan turns off the dripping faucet.
> 
> Gavin shuffles around papers marked up in highlighter and pen.
> 
> "We made plans, Ryan."
> 
> "I know."
> 
> "How can I marry someone I can't trust?"
> 
> Ryan thought he knew everything about fear. But he's never been proven wrong like now. Terror runs so deep that he almost makes a beeline for the bathroom. Ryan can practically feel the ache in his knees from hitting the tiled floor.
> 
> But Ryan remains frozen in place, and stares at the kitchen sink. "What did I do that makes you feel that way?"
> 
> "It's not what you _did._ It's what you're _going to_ _do._ " The frustration's evident in Gavin's voice. As if he shouldn't have to elaborate on something that's so simple and clear. "You're giving up on your dream. And eventually, you're going to give up on us. And cheat."
> 
> Ryan doesn't even know where to begin with that train of logic. This man's beautiful, brilliant mind is one of the reasons Ryan fell so deeply for him. But how terrifying is it when you can't understand your significant other? Who changed? Gavin? Ryan? Or have they never truly known each other all along?
> 
> "I haven't given up on anything." The weary hurt bleeds through the cracks of Ryan's composure. "Gavin-- what do you need me to do?"
> 
> "Stop making Unsolved."
> 
> With a crestfallen face, Ryan looks over. Gavin stands beside him now. Towering over Ryan with his height. The city outside sounds too gratingly loud. But nowhere near deafening as Ryan's heart beating in his ears.
> 
> _"What?"_
> 
> "Stop making Unsolved. Leave Buzzfeed. Work in a _real_ studio. I'll help get you through the door." With a smile, Gavin takes hold of Ryan's arms. His right index finger taps three times. Slow. Steady. A silent promise. "Ryan, it's not too late. You can start working your way up now. In a couple of years, you'll be showing at festivals." There's nothing, but hope in those blue eyes. Brighter, more striking in color than skies in this city can ever be. "And hey, Netflix is opening up to more creators who aren't big names yet. Or we can go for Amazon. Hulu. Or maybe do some horror projects, like a found-footage piece, and shop it over to Blumhouse. And oh! Someday, make something really solid, kind of arthouse-y, get A24 behind it-"
> 
> "No."
> 
> A beat of silence.
> 
> "What?" 
> 
> "I said no." Ryan's breathing is anything, but steady. "This-- this isn't okay." Every atom vibrates with anxiety. The man's on the brink of nosediving into a panic attack. But Ryan keeps looking his partner in the eye. "That's your dream. Not mine."
> 
> One blue eye carries more tears than the other. In a strained voice, Gavin says, "It's _our_ dream."
> 
> "No, it's not." Ryan's the first to let tears fall. "I'm not giving up Unsolved."
> 
> Gavin lifts a hand to dry Ryan's face. But his fingers halt just before touching Ryan. With a smile, Gavin withdraws his hand all together. "Then why are you still here?" The man walks over to the bookshelves. Fingers brush across the edge of a shelf. "You don't love me as much as I love you."
> 
> "But _I do!_ Gavin, I love you, I-"
> 
> "So, why isn't it enough?" Gavin's shoulder shakes with a hard sob. _"Why the fuck isn't love enough?"_
> 
> Ryan tries to stifle a sob with the back of his hand. It's futile. Tears scorch down. Months ago, when Ryan was organizing and cleaning the shelves, he found a ring box hidden behind a row of movies.
> 
> Their anniversary is only mere weeks away.
> 
> They're so close.
> 
> So damned close.
> 
> But it's terrifying once realizing that someone doesn't love you. Because all along, they've been loving the idea of you. The affliction runs deeper at the discovery that it's not one-sided. Both of their hands are painted in red.
> 
> Gavin loves who he believes Ryan can become.
> 
> And Ryan loves who Gavin used to be.
> 
> How did they grow in different directions? When did they fall out of love with each other? Why didn't they see this sooner?
> 
> _'Relationships take work,'_ the world says. But there's only so much people can compromise on. Only so much people can sacrifice. The truth never changes. People just get better at lying. And for them-- the truth is that they don't make each other happy. Not anymore.
> 
> The truth is that they both deserve better.
> 
> Wiping at his eyes, Ryan slips his jacket back on. He slings a backpack strap over his shoulder, and turns towards the door. 
> 
> "Ryan, I love you. Even when I couldn't love myself."
> 
> It's been a long time, since Ryan has heard Gavin sound so vulnerable. The last time was when Gavin first confessed to him. Ryan swallows hard to not let any sobs escape. But as he stands before the door, his shoulders tremble.
> 
> "I don't want to see you give up on your dream," Gavin says to Ryan's back. "Or you give up on being happy."
> 
> Ryan's grasp on the door handle tightens. "Maybe we have different ideas about what being happy means."
> 
> "So, you're just going to walk?" Any remnants of Gavin's composure shatters. Broken words scatter everywhere. "You're giving up on us?"
> 
> The wooden door is cool against Ryan's forehead. When he closes his eyes, Ryan sees the warm, golden glow of house lights flooding through barely closed blinds. They're sitting on one of the broken sofas on the porch. The party rages around them. But they're in their own world, sharing views about the horror genre, how fears and anxieties experienced by different cultures manifest in film, how film making has shaped them.
> 
> When Ryan keeps his eyes closed a little longer, he can see the future. Almost so clearly. Sunlight spilling through windows with drawn curtains. A home in a part of Southern California where there are birds, and the ocean's within reach. The two of them on the sofa, Ryan's legs stretched over Gavin's lap, a stack of various screenplays and drafts on the coffee table. Matching rings glimmer as they trade highlighters and pens. And maybe-- maybe even the sound of the front door swinging open, innocent laughter rushing in warmer than any summer sun, small feet against the floorboards, the sound of the school bus driving away.
> 
> Ryan opens his eyes.
> 
> He walks out the door.

"This is the relationship I was most afraid of telling you about."

"Why?"

If Ryan takes one more sip, he might see the painted stars. He tilts the cup around gently. A low wave of coffee swims inside. "Most people don't want to acknowledge love stories where it's not Good Guy vs. Bad Guy. Or how everyone involved can make mistakes. _I_ made mistakes." Ryan's grasp on the mug tightens. "My worst mistake in that relationship was not breaking up sooner. I think...So many of us would rather have something than nothing. Even if that something makes both of you fucking miserable."

Ryan drinks what's left of the coffee. After counting the painted stars, he sets the cup on the table.

"But-" Humming, Ryan wipes at his eyes. "That breakup was so-- fucking hard, because-" He leans forward. With his elbows on his knees, and hands clasped, Ryan hangs his head. "Gavin's talked about me to his peers. Connections. People he knows. And most of them are part of the industry one way or another."

Shane's inhale sounds strained. He doesn't miss the implication of those words. "Oh, Ryan."

"It's a weird paradox. The more I put myself out there in public, the bigger Unsolved gets--" Ryan wrangles his hands together. "--the more fucking terrified I am that someone's going to share my personal, private history. Or throw out a rumor about how I got on my knees to get into Buzzfeed." After a pause, Ryan adds, "I didn't, by the way."

"I know you didn't." Shane rubs the space between Ryan's shoulder blades. "That's a lot of anxiety and fear to carry."

While fighting back a sound, Ryan nods. "But I don't want to hide." His hand clenches and unclenches. The tremor stays. "I was close. I was _so fucking close_ to giving up on Unsolved. Maybe passing it to someone else. Or just cutting the show all together. But-- I wanted to do one more episode." Sitting up, Ryan looks over at Shane. "And that's when I asked you."

Shane's hand pauses at a half-drawn circle.

"And you said _yes,_ " Ryan whispers with a small smile. "And with each episode, each season-- you just kept saying yes. Until I didn't even ask anymore. I've never had someone believe in me like you, Shane. And-" Ryan does his best to hold onto that smile. Even when tears keep rising. "-you made me want to believe in myself again too."

As the last word leaves, Shane catches it with a kiss. The sob Ryan's been fighting so hard to lock away finally tumbles out. It sounds fragile, ugly, messy. Shane kisses Ryan deeper. He kisses Ryan with the ferocity of reassuring him that _of course, he'll always say yes._ Yes to Unsolved. Yes to Ryan. Yes to them.

Ryan returns the kiss with matched fervor. If truth is something that can be tasted, then Ryan's sure it must be this. Not only the lingering flavor of black coffee. But something that's always been unique Shane.

When their lips part, Shane dries Ryan's face. His thumbs brush over damp cheekbones. "Ryan, I fucking love what we do with Unsolved." Shane laughs. The sound is bright, warm, brilliant. "We've got an amazing crew, and one Helluva an amazing audience. Most of all, I love that we're doing it together." He holds Ryan's hand. "And if there comes a day when we outgrow Buzzfeed, we'll figure it out."

The possibility Shane hints at causes Ryan's eyes to widen. "But-- what about Unsolved? Would we...have to leave it?"

"Who said anything about that?" Shane grins. "We can find a way to move on from Buzzfeed, and keep doing Unsolved."

Ryan's about to protest, and list the million of ways that can't work. But he sees the light burning in Shane's eyes. It's the same light that encourages Ryan to go through solo investigations at haunted places. And the same light Ryan saw when he first asked Shane to be in Unsolved. The thought of leaving a company of financial stability, and diving into a realm of uncertainty is frightening.

But Ryan wants to find one way that it'll work. He wants to see a glimpse of that future with Shane.

Ryan leans in to give a light kiss. Followed by another. And another until Shane's laughing. With a smile, Ryan draws back. "Okay." It's a simple word, but feels full of hope. "We'll figure it out. Together."

"We can't solve a damned thing in Unsolved--" Shane winks, "-but I know we've got this."

The first impulse is to quip something back. But Ryan's struck with a quiet moment of awe and gratitude. Even after listening to Ryan's stories about his own ghosts-- Shane is still here.

"So..." Ryan's voice trails off. "It doesn't bother you how many people I've slept with before us?"

"Of course, not." Shane turns to face Ryan, and rests his arm on the sofa's upper ledge. "There's nothing wrong with having sex as long as everyone's safe, consenting, and legal. You could've slept with one person or one hundred. Or even no one." He shrugs a shoulder. "Only thing that mattered before us is that we both tested clean." Shane holds a steady gaze on his partner. "And I trust you, Ry. I've never doubted you." Humming, Shane's fingers drum on the sofa. "The only person I've doubted is myself. And that's something I'm working on."

Overwhelming relief rushes through Ryan in a torrent. "Thanks, Shane." He touches the man's knuckles. "And I've got a lot to work on with myself too."

"Don't we all?" Shane chuckles. "I understand it wasn't easy to talk about this, Ry. I'm proud of you for opening up."

The praise feels close to undeserved. But Ryan fights that feeling. He doesn't want to stay locked in the attic's echo chamber. Ryan wants to be here with Shane.

"I kept meaning to tell you about my past, but it's all so fucked up, and what we have--" Ryan takes Shane's hand. " _\--is so good._ I love us. I love _you._ I kept putting this off, and I know I shouldn't have, and I'm sorry for not telling you sooner, especially when you've shared so much with me, and I--"

Before Shane can gently quiet Ryan's rambling with a kiss, Ryan leans in first. There's no hesitation as Shane returns the kiss. Shane strokes Ryan's back to ease his lungs into a stable rhythm.

"Pain isn't a competition. There's not like-" Shane waves a hand vertically. "Hierarchy to trauma. We're in this together, dude. And if we can get through god knows how many 'haunted' places, we'll find our way through this too."

Ryan's voice muffles against the curve of Shane's neck and shoulder. "When did you get so damned romantic?"

"It's to make up for roasting you 24/7 on the show."

"People are saying it's confirmed all that roasting is flirting."

"Well, they're not exactly wrong."

Ryan playfully shoves at his boyfriend. Laughing, Shane envelopes Ryan in a hug. Ryan flails a bit before settling down. Shane closes his eyes. The man deeply breathes in the comforting scent he's missed.

"Ry--" Shane's fingers drift down his partner's arm. "Have you ever changed yourself for me?"

"No. I've been more of myself with you than anyone." After pondering for a moment longer, Ryan laughs. "And it shows through Unsolved. Yeah, I get scared of ghosts, demons, and the places we visit. But I'm not afraid anymore to ask questions, or speak my mind, or share what I'm passionate about. And you--" Ryan holds Shane's hand a little tighter. "You always listen."

"Of course, I listen," Shane says with a soft gaze. "How else am I going to debunk every theory of yours on-camera? The Shaniacs are counting on me."

"You fucking jackass." Ryan breaks into a fit of his signature wheezes.

It grows into bright, loud laughter as Shane kisses his cheek, his jaw, his neck-- When Shane's lips touch his pulse, Ryan's breath hitches. Shane stops. Neither of them have forgotten what started all of this. A simple, yet elegant black collar. Before Shane can move away, and stammer out an apology, Ryan cradles the back of Shane's head. He guides Shane in closer.

"The thing is that I-" Ryan tries to hold his voice still. But it's in vain when his heartbeat and lungs refuse to stay calm. "I _want_ to be collared by you, Shane. I want it so bad. Haven't stopped thinking about it, since you first showed me. I just--" His fingers curl in strands of light umber. "I'm scared that someday, you'll realize I'm not what you want."

The confession's heartbreaking even when Shane can't see Ryan's face. From the nuances of tremors and tension in Ryan's body, Shane knows his partner's struggling to hold it together. But Ryan doesn't need to do that. Not when it's the two of them. They're safe here. They can fall apart if that's what needs to happen. Shane pulls Ryan into his lap, and embraces him tightly. His lips graze over a tear.

"I love you, Ryan." Shane whispers the words against the man's temple. "I love you so fucking much." He reaches for Ryan's hand, and kisses his knuckles. "After everything you've been through, I'm grateful you let me in this close. All I could want is to be with you. Grow with you." Shane presses his lips against Ryan's throat. "The collar's still in the drawer. It's yours. Whenever you feel ready."

The pulse in Ryan's jugular vein skips. This kindness is overwhelming. Nothing is being demanded of him. No ultimatums slammed on the table. Ryan turns his head, and rests his cheek against soft brown hair. He follows Shane's breathing.

"Love you," Ryan exhales softly. "Thanks for waiting for me." There's more he wants to say. But Ryan's heart feels too full. It holds a vice grip on his vocal chords.

Shane's chuckle runs warm and full. "Love you, too." He kisses Ryan's shoulder. "What can I do to help you feel less afraid and anxious? Or at least, something where we don't hold things in for too long?"

Ryan traces the lines of Shane's palm. He missed feeling these familiar pathways. "Maybe more talks like these? If you're up for that. I know it can get heavy sometimes."

"Totally, dude. I'd rather us talk than not talk." Shane glances over at the window. "Kinda reminds me of how we'd talk for hours at night. Before we started dating."

Their shared laughter stir up memories of conversations flourishing past midnight. Earbud wires tangled between fingers. Or a phone resting by the pillow, conversation set on speaker. Lying alone in bed, but not feeling lonely. Watching horizontal beams of light ripple across the ceiling from passing headlights. Sudden fits of happy wheezes. Quiet cracking in words from surfacing tears. Their voices raw, vulnerable, pure. Feeling more connected and alive and together than ever.

The kinder memories welcome a smile onto Ryan's face. "You're the only person I talked with until the sun came up."

"Same." Shane mirrors Ryan's grin. "But does it count when you usually fell asleep?"

" _You_ fell asleep sometimes too." Ryan's about to throw out another bantering remark. But as he looks at Shane, Ryan grows more aware of the dark circles under the man's eyes. Ryan cups Shane's cheek. He traces the blurry edge of a dark circle with his thumb. "But you haven't been sleeping much lately. Right?"

Shane leans into Ryan's hand. The warmth of his palm almost lulls Shane to sleep right here and now. "Neither have you." He kisses Ryan's hand. "Bed?"

With a smile, Ryan stands up, and holds his hand out to Shane. For a moment, Shane sees Ryan not in the living room. But in their small corner of the office. A hopeful smile that matches the hopeful look in his eyes. Asking Shane to hunt after things the man doesn't believe in. The possibility of ghosts, demons, and whatever paranormal entities isn't why Shane says yes.

He says yes, because of Ryan.

It's always been Ryan.

In the living room, Shane takes Ryan's hand. Ryan helps Shane onto his feet. But he doesn't stop there. Ryan secures his other arm around Shane's waist, and hauls the man over his shoulder. 

_"Holy fuckin' shit-!"_ Shane laughs in delighted surprise.

Proudly, Ryan grins. "Told ya I'd carry you too."

Shane can't even throw a fit. He's too busy covering his burning face with a hand. Meanwhile, Ryan carries Shane to the bedroom. Any show of strength from his boyfriend is something Shane's weak for. Now, Ryan's even manhandling him in more ways.

"You're unbelievable, Bergara."

With another wheezing laugh, Ryan lays Shane down on the bed. Shane's breath hitches as the man straddles him. Ryan runs his hands up Shane's arms until reaching the wrists above his head. As Ryan leans in, their hands clasp together. Shane meets him halfway in a kiss. It burns and deepens like a long-awaited fire. Ryan's hand slide under the man's shirt to seek out his heartbeat. Shane caresses Ryan's sides. His palms warm the well-defined muscles.

"I missed you," Ryan murmurs against the corner of Shane's mouth. "Missed you so fucking much." He buries his face into the man's shoulder. "I'm sorry for everything."

"Missed you too. Everyday." Shane's hand glides under shirt fabric. His palm follows up the spine until resting in the valley between Ryan's shoulder blades. "And it's okay, Ry. I don't want you to feel pressured for everything to be done right the first time. If we can figure out solutions when deadlines get changed last second, or we realize halfway through a shoot that the audio's fucked up, or whatever--" A chuckle rumbles around in Shane's chest. "We've got this. You. Me. Us."

Ryan takes in those words while savoring each inhale and exhale. He kisses Shane's cheek. "Promise me something?"

"Mm?"

"We're together--" Ryan locks their gazes. "You're still you. And I'm still me. Promise me we'll love each other while still being our own person."

Inside of Shane, love and pride swell like a symphony's overture. "I promise." He smiles at the warmth sparking in Ryan's eyes. Gently, Shane presses his hand down on Ryan's back to guide him closer. "I'm happy you came home."

At Ryan's soft sound of joy, Shane draws him in for another kiss. This time it bleeds with a little roughness and hunger around the edges. When Ryan's tongue flickers across his lower lip, Shane opens his mouth. Ryan tightens a hand in the man's hair. Silently, Ryan marvels at just how silken the strands twining around his fingers feel. Shane's hands scorch up his back. Ryan arches into the touch of those calloused palms. What begins as a sharp inhale melts into a softer moan. He doesn't shy away from the subtle, irregular rise of scars. Jagged lines and crescent moons-- Ryan loves them all.

Nails dragging down his side causes Shane to hiss. "Mark me," he gasps between the kisses. "Please."

"Oh, love." Ryan growls into the curve of Shane's neck and shoulder. Already his voice hits lower octaves. "I'll give you everything you want."

Together, they fall into a slow rhythm of grinding. Ryan begins an onslaught of marks. Starting with the most sensitive area of Shane's throat. Right over the precious pulse. It flickers like the North Star that Ryan wants to chase after every night. A keening sound escapes Shane. Ryan can't get enough of the way this man writhes underneath him. It's thrilling how only Ryan gets to experience Shane so needy like this.

As Shane draws red lines down Ryan's back, Ryan rewards him with another mark right under his jaw. He cradles the side of Shane's neck. Shane gets creative with swears as Ryan tugs on his hair. Ryan pulls again to draw Shane's head back. He drinks in the sight of that bared throat.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Ryan murmurs over the marks made so far. "Can't wait to wreck you, love. I missed how pretty you sound."

"Ryan, babe, _dude--_ " Shane closes his eyes tightly. "I love you, I fucking love you, I love this, but-" His voice chokes, then collapses into a shuddering exhale. "You're doing it again."

"Hmm?" Ryan glances up from where he's been marking Shane's chest. "What do you mean?" The hint of a smirk shows damned well Ryan knows what he's doing.

"Goddamnit, Ry. You're-- kinda-" Shane curses under his breath. A mix of desire and being flustered colors him in scarlet. "-using the Unsolved voice."

Ryan doesn't even try to hold back his laughter. He sits up with hands on Shane's chest, and grinds at a leisure pace. "You don't like my Unsolved voice?" Ryan feigns hurt. Bats his lashes. Lightly rakes his nails over warm skin. "But you've been listening to it for years."

"You keep using that voice in bed, and I'm gonna get turned on during the show."

"So?"

Shane's about to lightly shove at Ryan. But Ryan catches Shane's wrist, pins it above his head, and leans in close. All done in one fluid motion. Torrid desire crashes into Shane like a tidal wave. And it only heightens as Ryan narrates into Shane's ear what he's going to do the man tonight.

* * *

After final traces of heavy breathing and wanton sounds fade away, the static noise of LA fills in. They lay together. Bare with scarlet blemishes and faint red lines. Ryan rests his head on Shane's chest. Shane plays with dark locks. Easy conversation flows with light gestures of affection woven in.

Ryan touches the beginning of fingerprint bruises on Shane's hips. He smiles to himself at Shane sighing in content. In the morning, Ryan will admire how the blemishes darken into a lovely indigo.

"Everything's packed."

Shane turns his head. His body still thrums with the rawness of newly made marks. "What?"

Ryan looks at him through a mess of bangs. "My stuff." He nips at the corner of a hickey on Shane's shoulder. "I packed as soon as you asked me to move in. There's just like--" His arm gives a sweeping wave. "Boxes everywhere."

"We could get the boxes tomorrow?"

Even in the dimly lit room, Ryan's beaming smile doesn't diminish. He surges in for a kiss.

Shane's laughter muffles, then rings clear as he wraps his arms around Ryan. "That's a yes?"

Nodding, Ryan traces the scars and veins on Shane's arm. Shane guides Ryan's leg over his waist, so their bodies draw even closer. Lips curve into a smile against the shades of rouge painting Shane's throat. It's tempting to talk until sunrise.

So, they talk-- for moments that could be seconds, minutes, hours. Tomorrow, they'll debate over who fell asleep first. Tonight, between words and laughter and tears, they listen to the sound of each other's breathing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :’) And thank you for being wonderfully patient while I finished this story. Since I’ve uploaded Parts 2 and 3 at the same time, there’s a fuller End Notes in Part 3. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. The writing process was one Helluva emotional journey. But it’s always worthwhile, and I'm happy to share this with you all. Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Take care, everyone!
> 
> [ Disclaimer: This is 100% a work of fiction. Family members and supporting characters are fictional original characters. No association with the real Ryan Bergara, Shane Madej, Andrew Ilnyckyj, Steven Lim, Eugene Lee Yang, Zach Kornfeld, Ned Fulmer, Keith Habersberger, and any other mentioned RPF individuals. ]


	3. epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mental health, NSFW
> 
> \-- Zach, Eugene, Keith and Ned: [i'll take your hand when thunder roars. ](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696462)
> 
> \-- Steven and Andrew: [& all i can breathe is your life. (have heart, my dear.)](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1780078)
> 
> **Please do not share this with Buzzfeed Unsolved, Watcher, Worth It, The Try Guys, or any other RPF individuals. This is not for them to read. Thank you!

The pale blue shirt draping over Ryan's frame contrasts with his warm, tan skin. One end of the fabric slopes off Ryan's shoulder, and gives a view of toned muscles. The overlarge shirt runs down until reaching Ryan's upper thighs. It billows slightly as Ryan moves around the kitchen.

When Shane hugs his boyfriend from behind, Ryan lets out a delighted wheeze. Shane holds on tighter, and nuzzles into Ryan's neck. Bright laughter carries through the kitchen. It brings out sweeter notes in the warm, smoky aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

"How can you be so freaking adorable in the morning?" Shane mumbles against Ryan's shoulder. He scatters light kisses along exposed skin, working his way up Ryan's neck until kissing his cheek. "That's the real unsolved mystery right there."

Ryan turns his head to catch Shane's lips in a kiss. "You want me to narrate a case about myself?"

"Babe, you can narrate whatever you want." Shane's hands drift down to his partner's hips. "You could narrate the yellow pages, and I'd still find it fucking hot."

"Yellow pages?" Ryan thwacks Shane lightly in the chest with the back of his hand. He shakes with a fit of laughter. "Goddamn, Madej. You really that ancient? Do yellow pages even still exist?" Turning around, Ryan wraps his arms around Shane's shoulders. 

"Yeah, 'cause someone's throwing those paper bricks on our doorstep every month."

"Our doorstep," Ryan whispers in quiet awe. His fingers play with Shane's hair. In this morning light, the locks are dark honey gold. The warmth in Ryan's eyes grow as his smile broadens. "Our home."

Softly, Shane echoes, "Our home."

Ryan leans up to lightly peck his partner's cheek. "Wait here a sec."

The words tickle Shane's ear. Curious and fond, Shane watches Ryan leave the kitchen. He turns his eyes to the cabinets. They shelves have grown fuller, since Ryan moved in. When Shane sets two mugs on the counter, he hears muted footsteps on the kitchen floor.

Turning towards the sound, Shane says, "Ry-..."

Eyes widen as Shane's voice trails off. Ryan holds a familiar box. The mere sight of that box grasps at something deep in Shane's chest. It remains unopened, since the first time Shane made the offer to Ryan.

After a deep breath, Ryan says, "I have a suggestion I want to make."

Shane fully turns to face Ryan. He nods. "I'm listening."

Ryan opens the box. It's the same black collar. But this time, along with the silver ghost charm, there's a golden starburst charm. 

"I'd love for this to be _our_ collar." Ryan's voice wavers all over the place. From excitement. From nervousness. From hope. "So, whoever's submitting can wear it. As much as I want to be collared--" Ryan reaches out to trace Shane's neck. "I want to collar you too."

Shane's eyes flutter shut. Like a finger pressing upon a piano key to sing a clear note, Ryan's touch has Shane baring his throat. The nuanced ways their bodies react to each other shakes them to the core. It should be frightening for someone to know their soul this deeply, profoundly, unconditionally. But there's no fear. Not anymore.

Shane opens his eyes. It may be the sunlight or tears that make the warm browns glimmer. "You want me?"

Ryan's answer is already in his beaming smile. But still, he says with all his heart, "Damn right, I do."

Shane looks at the collar again, and tilts his head. "No C.C. Tinsley charm?"

As Ryan lightly shoves Shane, they both break out laughing. With care, Ryan sets the box on the counter. He pulls Shane in by the side of his neck, and presses their lips together. Shane returns the kiss deeply. As they chase after laughter and more kisses, the fabric of Shane's shirt barely stays on Ryan's shoulders. Shane lifts Ryan to help him onto the kitchen counter.

"Here?" Ryan smiles against Shane's cheek.

Softly, Shane murmurs, "I want you in every room of our home."

Whatever playful, teasing remark Ryan had ready falls silent. He guides Shane's hands to part the blue shirt, and roam across his body. With smiles at the edges of their lips, they kiss.

* * *

Brown eyes reread the lines. There's a few scratched out words along the way. Knowing there's a good chance Ryan will choke up the second he hears the other person's voice, Ryan decides to draft out what to say. He could've typed this up. But writing it out by hand feels better. Reading in whispers, the opposite end of his pen traces along the words. After a couple more passes, and several deep breaths, Ryan hits speed dial.

When the call's about to pass into voicemail, it gets answered.

_"What?"_

"Do you wanna play ball?"

A heavy pause. A wrangled sigh. _"Are you dying?"_

"W-what?" Ryan splutters with wide eyes. "No, Cal. I'm not dying. Why would you think that?"

_"We haven't played basketball in years. And you only call when serious shit hits the fan."_

Ryan winces as his brother gives it real. The quiet sigh hints at Caleb growing restless.

_"Look, dude-"_

"I wasn't there when you needed me." The words rush out in a mess. Everything Ryan painstakingly drafted out lays forgotten. "And I'm so sorry for that."

Another heavy silence. It goes on for so long that Ryan thinks his brother's going to hang up. Or maybe he already has. Just when Ryan's about to check, Cal speaks up.

_"I'll bring my boyfriend to play too."_

Ryan blinks. He stares at the window. "Your...your _boy_ friend?" Suddenly, Ryan inhales sharply. At the epiphany, his chest ruptures. "Cal, I--"

_"We'll kick your asses."_

Laughter spills out. There's a sob somewhere in there, but neither of the brothers comment on it. "You guys probably will. I'd even bet on it. Shane's awful at basketball."

_"You must really like him if you're roasting him outside of Unsolved."_

"It's not even a roast, bro. I'm just stating facts-" Ryan stops. "Wait, you..." His chest tightens. The tears hit even harder. "You watch our show?"

 _"Yeah._ _But I'm more of a Try Guys and Worth It fan."_

"Try Guys, I understand. But you like the _fancy boys_ over the ghoul boys?!"

_"Your plebeian tastebuds consider Taco Bell as regular standard, and Chipotle as gourmet dining. Of course, Worth It makes no sense to you."_

Ryan scoffs loudly. "I can't believe you." Despite his disbelief, Ryan laughs. He's reminded of why he's so experienced at returning jests. No one's on his brother's level of banter.

 _"But for real, Ry--"_ Cal clears his throat. It does little to rid the echoes of tears. _"You gonna show up?"_

Even with how guarded his brother has become, Ryan still hears the vulnerability. "Yeah, I'll be there," he promises. "There's one last thing I have to say." Melodramatically, Ryan heaves a breath. "I lov-"

_"Oh, my fucking god. Bro. Dude."_

"Cal, I lov-"

_"Don't."_

"I LOV-"

_"RYAN."_

"I LOVE YOU-"

Ryan laughs as his brother screams. His laughter carries on even after Caleb hangs up. Somewhere during Cal's adolescence, it became an one-sided inside joke that they don't say _'I love you.'_ Or if Ryan tries hugging Cal, his brother would punch him in the arm. Hard. Agitating his little brother as a mean of expressing affection never gets old. 

He shoots off a quick text about when might be a good time for a basketball game. Ryan slides the phone into his pocket, then leaves the bedroom. Walking down the hall, Ryan's about about to call for Shane.

Abruptly, Ryan stops at the edge of the living room. Stacks of books are set by Shane's feet. Standing before the bookshelves, Shane shuffles around some novels. Sometimes, he pauses with a book in his hand, and hums while debating which shelf it should go on. Ever since Ryan moved in, they've been able to reunite the books they lent to each other. 

His gaze drifts to some books set on the coffee table. To anyone else, it's a mess of titles and authors that make no sense. But to Ryan and Shane, it's their brand of organized chaos. Ryan's eyes widen at a novel he hasn't held in a long time. He reaches for the book. Fingers trace over the elegant lettering of _'Shirley Jackson'_ , then runs over the contrasting serif typeface spelling out, _'The Haunting of Hill House'._

The upper right corner of the book is uneven from a multitude of dog-ear folded corners. Ryan thumbs at the deepest fold. Once the book opens, his eyes fall upon lines he can recite by heart.

_"Insist on your cup of stars; once they have trapped you into being like everyone else you will never see your cup of stars again."_

The words have been underlined with a variety of colors. Blue. Black. Red that's faded into rose pink. Even faint grey from lines of graphite. Any time Ryan rereads a novel, he uses a different writing tool to mark with. He's lost count of how many times he's read this book. Asterisk stars scribbled around the passage create a mess of constellations.

Ryan's handwriting lives in the margins. His peculiar mix of print and cursive scrawled in from years ago asks: _"Should I keep insisting on my cup of stars?"_ It's written so small that the letters are barely legible. Even now, Ryan can feel his younger self's terror over even putting such a question down on paper.

Words blur. Tears sting.

Because Ryan sees another handwriting answering the question:

_"Yes. Always. Absolutely."_

The clean, print handwriting is unmistakably Shane's.

As more tears brim Ryan's eyes, he flips through the pages. His handwriting doesn't live alone in this book. Now, there are Shane's words. And from what Ryan's skimmed so far, Shane's poured his heart, soul, secrets, fears, and hopes into the margins as much as Ryan has. The more Ryan catches glimpses of these pale golden pages, the more tears well in his eyes. When he pauses to read a few words, Ryan realizes that Shane isn't only sharing his thoughts about the novel. He's writing _to_ Ryan.

This is a novel Ryan can recite with eyes closed. And yet, Shane has remade it into something new. There's a love letter spanning across hundreds of pages. Speaking to Ryan in a language only they understand. It's tempting to read the novel from front to back. Shane's handwriting calls to him.

But for now, Ryan sets the book down on the table. He throws his arms around Shane from behind.

"Woah!" Shane lets out a startled laugh. "About to barrel me over, Bergara?" He has another quip to fire. But Shane pauses once looking over his shoulder. Brows knit together in concern. "Hey, you okay?" He turns around in the embrace.

"Yeah." Ryan bracelets his arms around Shane's shoulders. Fingers brush over the back of his neck. "You up for playing a game against my bro and his boyfriend?" 

Shane stares. As realization dawns on the man, his eyes soften, and a smile surfaces. "Hell yeah, dude. So ready for the shovel talk by getting my ass handed to me on court."

Ryan's eyes light up. "That means I can give the shovel talk too!"

Shane laughs at his boyfriend's genuine excitement. "This will either be the cutest or most passive-aggressive game of basketball."

"Maybe both?" While giving Shane a kiss, Ryan leads him towards the sofa. "Thanks for being open to this. It really means a lot."

"Totally, man--" When the back of Shane's legs hit the sofa, he falls back, and Ryan ends up in his lap. They collapse into a vast collection of arcade prize plushes occupying the sofa. Shane catches the Rilakkuma doll before it falls on the ground. "Didn't realize how many of these we have until we got 'em all together."

Ryan shuffles a few around, so they don't teeter over the edge. "Maybe some of them can live with our friends?"

"You make it sound like you're gonna stuff demons inside these cute plushes. Like a contemporary take on the Trojan Horse."

Ryan's body shakes with a hysterical fit of laughter and wheezes. "Thought we could venture outside of sabotaging Worth It in just video games."

"Can't forget The Try Guys." Shane shakes his head. "Stevie said Worth It made an alliance with them."

"This is what we get after helping Steven and Andrew get together?" Ryan scoffs. "Not to mention Eugene and Zach." As he watches Shane throw his head back laughing, Ryan's gaze softens. "You know how I'm so in love with you?"

Brown bangs cascade loosely. There's a relaxed air to Shane these days. "How?"

"Because we get such a kick out of scheming diabolical plots against our friends."

"Oh, baby--" Shane smirks. Mischief sparks in his eyes. "We haven't even started talking about cleaning up the crime scenes."

Grinning, Ryan straddles Shane's lap. He nuzzles against the lovingly marked neck. Shane circles his arms around Ryan with a hand gliding under his shirt. Eyes falling close, they rest their foreheads together. They listen to each other's quiet breathing, and the hurricane of LA beyond open blinds. Light rays paint over the walls. Before their lips brush, Shane murmurs:

"Welcome home."

For years, Ryan's been straining to hear something in the EVP's static storm. Proof of the paranormal. Proof of the unknown. Maybe Ryan will be searching for that the rest of his life.

But as for proof of love?

It's right here.

He hears it in Shane's voice.

With a smile warm as the sunlight pouring in, Ryan whispers:

"I'm home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story ♡ I appreciate the BFU / Watcher / WI / TTG community for supporting what I'm passionate about exploring, and writing at my own pace. This story grew into an opportunity to write about themes, conflicts, and situations I've always wanted to delve into. At times, the creative process was emotionally challenging. But my heart feels full. And it grows fuller when I can share this with readers like you.
> 
> For anyone who reads my Standrew and Zagene stories (thank you!)— I’ll be exploring their perspectives and struggles with body insecurities, masculinity, and related themes in future pieces. This year, I’ve gotten a better grasp on what I’m most passionate about writing: love stories where characters learn to give love to themselves, and help each other to grow. Thank you for being with me on this journey. I'm grateful for all kudos and comments that brighten my day. Stay safe and take care of yourselves ♡♡♡
> 
> [ Disclaimer: This is 100% a work of fiction. Family members and supporting characters are fictional original characters. No association with the real Ryan Bergara, Shane Madej, Andrew Ilnyckyj, Steven Lim, Eugene Lee Yang, Zach Kornfeld, Ned Fulmer, Keith Habersberger, and any other mentioned RPF individuals. ]


End file.
